


A Simple Favor

by hystericallyqueen



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bohemian Rhapsody, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gwilym Lee - Freeform, Pregnancy, Queen (Band) - Freeform, Queen - Freeform, Surrogacy, baby mama fic, gwilym lee x reader - Freeform, pregnancy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-19 16:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 95,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18137948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericallyqueen/pseuds/hystericallyqueen
Summary: Your best friend Gwilym wants to have a kid. Problem is, he doesn’t have anyone to have one with, at least not in the typical way. When he asks if you’ll have breakfast with him one day, your first thought is that he better have one hell of a good reason for waking you up before noon on your day off. Turns out, he does. He’s got a very serious question to ask you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!!!! This fic was originally posted on my tumblr (same username as I have here), and I just posted the final part there. I was (and still am) completely blown away by the reaction to this fic. A lot of people told me they'd love to see it here on Ao3 as well, so I'll be posting a couple chapters a day until it's all up! There are 14 parts total; hope you guys enjoy!

Gwilym Lee hated invasive questions.  Rather, he hated when people asked them out loud, especially people he didn’t know,  _especially_ people who had no personal stake in the resulting answer to said invasive question, should he even give up a second of his time to consider satisfying their lewd curiosity.  

You knew this, because when you accompanied him as his date to the premiere of his latest project two months ago— _Bohemian Rhapsody, first a hit song and now a hit movie!_ as his personal assistant Lisa liked to pitch to anyone who would listen—a reporter had asked him, “with so many costume changes, you all must have seen each other naked at least once, right?”

Gwilym had given the man a look that could cut steel, while you snorted with laughter into your cocktail as you watched from the side of the red carpet.

And you knew the answer to that question—of course they had, not always by accident either—because Gwilym told you everything.  

It had always been that way with him, ever since you first became friends. Whether it was midnight meltdowns trying to figure out what to do with your lives, or one of you catching the other in a lie and forcing them to fess up, or even the time you’d bled through your pants and Gwilym had not only notified you, but ripped off his hoodie so you could use it, in the middle of a parking lot, in January…you couldn’t (and wouldn’t) hide anything from each other. You’d heard all about his most embarrassing stories and failed relationships, and he had probably an even bigger arsenal of yours. You knew everything from each other’s favorite colors to the deepest, most personal parts of each other.

Even once his acting career had taken off, you remained close as two peas in a pod, if not closer. You always supported him, and before long, he’d gone from small screen actor to Brian May’s actual doppelgänger.  It had been absolutely nuts seeing him receive so much attention, all of which he had earned, and during some of which he needed you by his side to help him keep his wits about him.

That was why on the night of the premiere some months ago, you had taken one look at his face and led him away from the pesky interviewer while you tried to contain your giggles.

But, seriously, Gwilym hated invasive questions, and even though you knew that, you couldn’t resist asking him one now as you sat across from him at a corner table in  _Le Petit Patissiere_. He hadn’t touched his macchiato, and something was up.

“Spill,” you said, eyeing him over your mug.  He rolled his neck back and forth, looking like he’d rather do anything but continue this conversation. “Come on,” you laughed, “what, have you killed someone? Need me to help hide the body?” you joked, and he flipped you the bird with a wry smile.

“No,” he emphasized, “I’m just feeling a bit off today.”

“You’re a bit  _weird_ today,” you countered. He simply shrugged, and you frowned at him. Usually by now he’d have caved and told you all about how his aunt was stirring up family drama again, or how he’d bombed an audition, but he was still sitting with his sad little coffee, making a face like someone had just asked him to kick a puppy.

He was, indeed, acting weird. Very weird. First off, he’d called you at eight in the morning.  _Called._ In 2018. At eight in the  _fucking A-M_ , on the one day you got to work from home, in other words, not work at all. He’d said he wanted to get breakfast, even though it was Tuesday, and you always met for breakfast on Fridays. You’d agreed, even though you were barely awake and looked like a troll, and then he’d insisted on paying for your coffee and croissant, which had cost a whopping seven dollars. Not exactly breaking the bank. And now, Gwilym was stoic as stone, whereas usually he’d be the chattiest Cathy of them all.

“I know what’s wrong,” you said around a mouthful of croissant. You pointed a finger at him. “You’re on your period.”

“Ha, ha,” he drawled. “No.”

“Huh, could have fooled me. What is it, then?”

Gwilym heaved a long sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at you with a sort of tired panic in his eyes.

“I’m 35,” he said. “When the fuck did that happen?”

You propped your chin in one elbow and faked like you were thinking hard.

“I’d guess about a year after you turned 34.”

“Seriously, Y/N,” Gwil said, and you could hear the urgent tone in his voice, so you wiped the smirk off your face. “ _Thirty-five._ I’m in deep now. I mean, I’m fit and all that, but I’m…middle aged,” he said with a grimace.

“Okay, so you’re 35,” you said slowly. “I’m not trying to be insensitive here but…what’s so bad about that? That’s not old, Gwil.”

Gwilym shook his head and stirred his drink with the little spoon that came on the dish. He bit his lip and furrowed his brow like he was undergoing some dire internal struggle. And apparently he was, as he then frowned and shook his head.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I did not get up at eight to sit here and listen to you moan about being a perfectly healthy man,” you said, only half joking. “What’s up?”

Gwilym put down his mug, leaned across the small table, and grasped your hands in his. Startled but amused, you looked at him, and he looked right back into your eyes.

“I’m going to say something really absurd in about a minute,” Gwilym informed you. “And if you want to slap me I will fully respect that.”

“Oh my God, you  _did_ kill someone,” you replied, now actually a bit wary. Gwilym chuckled and shook his head.

“Just remember that I am your best friend, and you are mine, and as your best friend you’re contractually obligated to still like me or at least tolerate me after this. Because we are not letting ten years of friendship die because of what I’m about to—”

“Jesus, Gwilym, spit it out!”

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and squeezed your hands tightly.

“I want a kid.”

Gwilym let go of your hands and sat back in his chair, holding out his own hands in a “there it is” gesture before letting them fall into his lap.

You blinked. Then blinked again. If you took the time to wrack your brain for every last ridiculous thing you ever might have guessed he’d say _—“I joined the Mafia.” “I’m getting married to a pirate queen and we’re sailing the world.” “I killed Mufasa.”—_ this never would have even found its way to the surface of your thoughts.  You were silent for a minute, still trying to discern whether he was pulling your leg, before you settled for taking a sip of your now cold coffee with an utterly perplexed look on your face.

“Come again?” you asked.

“I want to have a kid,” Gwilym repeated confidently. You rubbed your jaw, trying to find the right words.

“Don’t you, you know, want a wife first? A wedding, honeymoon?” You asked a moment later. He had always been a sucker for all that romantic tradition.

Gwilym nodded thoughtfully.

“I did, yeah. I do. But like I said, I’m 35 years old, and you’re right, that’s not  _that_ old, but—” he paused for a moment and shrugged— “I guess I thought by now that stuff would have happened, and it hasn’t. There are things I want to have in my life, and a baby is one of them. My biological clock is ticking, Y/N,” he said, and tapped his watch in a perfect imitation of how your aunt used to chastise you using the same argument, whenever you attended another Thanksgiving without a boyfriend. Once you’d told Gwilym about that, he came the next year as your fake beau, and while the rest of your family was in on the trick, Auntie Shirley was none the wiser.

Huh. A kid. Gwil, as a dad.

The more you let his words sink in, the more you did understand them. You’d seen the way he looked at babies in movies, when you were walking in the park, or shopping together for various holidays. Hell, when your old uni professor had brought her two-year-old daughter to a lecture one day, Gwilym had volunteered to hold her on his lap during the class. He’d always had that paternal instinct, so it made sense that he’d want a child of his own one day. You just didn’t expect him to be keen on doing it alone.

“Good for you,” you said truthfully, and gave him a warm smile. “I mean it, Gwil. If that’s what you want, you should do it.  Any kid would be lucky to have you as their dad.”

His face broke into a delighted smile tainted only very slightly with an expression of worry. You could only see it in the crinkles around his eyes, and the dark shadow that passed over his gaze for just a moment. You could only see it because you knew him so well.

“You think so?” he asked.

You nodded, and he grinned again.

“I think so too,” he gushed, now that he knew you didn’t think he was off his rocker. “And I’m totally on board with the single dad approach, I mean, would I  _like_  to have a ring on this finger?” he asked, holding up his left hand, “Sure. But more than anything I just want to be a father.”

The soft smile on his face nearly made your heart burst.

“Are you thinking of adopting, then?” you asked curiously.  

That same soft smile faltered and Gwilym shook his head, averting his eyes. He stared down at his lap and fiddled with the cuff of his shirt sleeve.

“No, I want it to be mine. Actually mine.”

“How’re you going to do that?”

Gwilym took another sip of his coffee.

“I’ll find a surrogate, I suppose. I figure if they’ve got sperm banks, there’s got to be a similar kind of place for men, or for couples who need a bit of help, right? It’s expensive, and they’ll want a background check, I’m sure, but that’s no problem. Bo Rhap’s treated me alright, so I can handle the cost,” he chuckled.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his cluelessness.

“Have you done any research?”

“About babies? Yeah!” he said enthusiastically. “I’ve been around lots of them all my life, and I have a list of books I should get—”

“I meant about the process. Getting a surrogate and all that. You can’t just waltz in and pick from a lineup,” you laughed.

Gwilym nodded. “I know. I’ve looked into all the different methods, you know, IVF, IUI…”

“What’s IUI?”

“Intra-uterine insemination,” Gwilym said quickly and immediately. Damn. Guess he did know his stuff.

“Bless you,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes playfully.

“I’m just still trying to figure out what would make most sense for me,” he said. “Probably IUI, it’s more affordable…anyway, of course I’m going to do more research before going through with it; I want to know everything there is to know about surrogates and all that. I just thought before I did I might—”

“Tell me?” you sat back and folded your arms over your chest, smiling at him.

“Ask you,” Gwilym replied.

“If I think it’s a good idea? I’ve already said I do.”

“No, Y/N, ask you if—if you’d carry.”

Good  _fucking_ thing you weren’t tipping your chair back, because you would have fallen flat on your ass, in your sweatpants, in front of twenty hip coffee aficionados all sipping their matcha avocado venti brews or whatever the fuck it was, all oblivious to the fact that Gwilym had just dropped a god damn baby bomb on you.

_What. Did he just say._

Gwilym started to speak again, but you raised a hand and cut him off.

“Hold on, let me just get this. You…want me to carry a child. Your child,” you said slowly, maintaining eye contact with him.

Gwilym’s face flushed and he quickly wiped his face with a napkin, then moved to get up. He pushed his chair back with a horrible scrape of metal on hardwood.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that, Y/N, that was really—fuck, I’m going to go,” he stumbled trying to get up and you felt a rush of sympathy and understanding for your best friend. You jumped to your feet and grabbed his arm in what you hoped was a comforting way.

“Don’t!” you said, and tried to push Gwilym back down into his chair. He reluctantly sat, looking at you very, very apologetically.  “That’s why you wanted to get breakfast today, isn’t it?”

He nodded, looking rather miserable.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m realizing now that was really inappropriate—”

“It’s okay,” you said softly. It was a shock, but you weren’t offended, just confused. “Why?”

Gwilym’s eyes widened like he couldn’t believe you wouldn’t know the answer to such a question.

“Because you’re my best friend,” he replied. “I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather have carry for me than you, and that’s all it would be, just carrying, I wouldn’t try to force you into motherhood,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I love you, you know that, and I trust you.  We know each other almost disgustingly well.  And you’re not bad-looking either,” he added as an afterthought.

“Thanks, Gwil,” you said sarcastically, but you felt the corner of your mouth twitch upwards.

“It’s true,” he said simply. “So before I went and got a surrogate who’s basically a stranger, I just thought I would see if it’s something you’d be willing to do. You can absolutely say no. I expected you to have said no already, if I’m being honest.”

You fell silent, thinking it all over. He was right, it was an absurd proposal and a huge commitment. A nine-month long commitment, to be exact, and then even longer after that if you breastfed. If you were going to carry for anyone it wouldbe Gwilym, but…Jesus.   _Just_ carrying. What an understatement. What’s more, you always imagined you’d have your first child with your spouse, whoever that ended up being, and not as a favor to a friend. Then again, you couldn’t even see marriage on the horizon from where you stood in life, so it wasn’t like that ship was coming in any time soon.

“Gwil,” you said quietly, your voice level, “How? I mean, how would we—? You’re not suggesting—”

“Oh my god, no, no!” Gwilym said quickly. “No sex. It’d be just like if I used an actual surrogate, all done in the doctor’s office, and of course I’d cover all the bills. Only difference is that it’d be someone I care about—you—and not someone I’ve just met.”

“And then what? I’d just be fucking  _pregnant_ , pop out a kid for you and hand it over?”

You didn’t mean for that to sound so rude, but you were still shocked by what Gwilym had said, and you wanted him to realize just how much he’d thrown you off guard.

“I’d be there every step of the way,” he said, and you could tell he was being honest. “I promise.”

“I don’t know, Gwil, that’s…this is a lot to ask.”

He nodded; he knew what he was asking was one of the biggest favors in existence, and he really couldn’t believe you hadn’t tossed the dregs of your coffee in his face and walked away by this point.

“Can I think about it a bit?” you asked tentatively.

Gwilym nodded enthusiastically, his face lighting up.

“Of course! Think as much as you need,” he said, looking deep into your eyes, “I really appreciate you even considering, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m doing that,” you warned him, “I just need to go process all this with a bottle of wine, or six, and some M*A*S*H reruns,” you said as you grabbed your bag and stood.

Gwilym rose with you and came around the table to wrap you in a tight hug.

“I’d offer to join you, but I’ve got some interviews I have to get to today. The next few days are a bit of a mess, actually, but I’ll see you for breakfast on Friday, yeah?”

You hissed, just remembering you had a conference call right at prime omelet time.

“My week’s from hell too, and I can’t do this Friday, work stuff,” you said against his chest as he hugged you. “I’ll text you though, soon, okay? We’ll make time this weekend or something. And I won’t call in the early morning like some monster did to me today.”

“Eight’s not early, you’re just a bum,” Gwilym laughed affectionately and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “A bum that I do love, truly.”

“Love you too, Gwil,” you said with a smile. “I’ll text,” you repeated, then gave him one last squeeze before you parted ways, Gwil on his way to his interview and you on your way back home with far too much to think about.

Jesus. It wasn’t even noon yet.

* * *

 

As much as you’d teased Gwilym for not having done much research, you realized that you didn’t really know any more than he did. You knew the basics, of course, but you had little clue as to how it all worked. When you got home, you fired off a few quick work emails and then sat down with a hefty glass of wine and your laptop, and set to learning.

A few hours later, your back was sore and your search history was questionable.  You’d learned more about fertility doctors and artificial insemination than you ever though you’d need to know, and had even fallen into a YouTube wormhole for a solid hour, watching “ _STORYTIME: MY FERTILITY DISASTER_ ” videos.

As you read up on the actual IUI process, though, it seemed less formidable than you thought.  On your walk home you’d had all sorts of nauseating images swirling in your mind of stirrups and injections from syringes filled with—you nearly gagged on your wine—but in reality it was much more technical and scientific.  There were all sorts of articles about fertility drugs to take before the actual procedure, but you figured you wouldn’t need those.

You’d just have to get approved, go into the clinic at the right time of the month, and wham bam thank you ma’am, you’d be pregnant. Hopefully. One mom blog had written a very detailed post on how it took her 18 tries to conceive. Yikes.

After that, it’d be smooth sailing. Well, as smooth as being pregnant with your best friend’s baby could be. You knew it would throw a wrench in your work life, but your job was also flexible enough that you could work from home if necessary, and it offered paid maternity leave, which you figured you’d take. As for your social life, you rarely went out as it was and you weren’t dating anyone, nor did you have any prospects. In short, it was doable. But did you really want to do it?

For every reason you could think of to say no, there was one to counter it. 

 _You’d have to deal with pregnancy symptoms,_ a voice in your head pointed out. 

 _But you know Gwilym would be there for you_ , said another. 

 _LABOR!_ the first voice screamed again, but the second voice chimed in with thoughts of how happy Gwil would be when he finally got to hold his baby. If anything, the whole ordeal would only make your friendship stronger.

 _If you didn’t want to do it for him,_ a third, wiser sounding voice piped up,  _why spend so much time looking into it?_

You sighed and shut your laptop.

It probably caused Gwilym a great deal of stress to even ask you in the first place. After all, it was a question that might ruin a friendship that wasn’t as strong as yours. But you’d known him for over a decade, and you’d been through the best and worst life had to offer with him.

You were there for him when he had to be rushed to the hospital with appendicitis in the middle of shooting a scene for Jamestown—you were his emergency contact and you’d driven him to the hospital still in his full 1600s costume. He was the first person you told when your last boyfriend had cheated on you, and he was the one who suggested a Harry Potter marathon and hot cocoa with Bailey’s to get over it (which worked like a charm). You were there when he was waiting on the call about whether he’d been cast in Bohemian Rhapsody, too, and had sat with him until he finally got the good news at two in the morning.

Not to mention you’d already done some wild things with and for him—hell, you’d traveled halfway around the world with him when he’d invited you to come on a leg of the press tour for the film. You quite literally went to the ends of the earth with him, and he’d done the same for you in countless ways over the course of your friendship.

And that’s all it ever was. An extremely close, loving, immensely important friendship. You knew he truly just wanted a child of his own; he wasn’t trying to trap you, or woo you, or lock you down. He just needed a bit of help to make that child happen, and beneath all the shock and confusion, you had to admit you were flattered he’d asked you to carry.

Flattered, and…excited?

_Fuck._


	2. Chapter 2

##  _Four Days Later_

Gwilym glanced at his phone for what had to be the third time in one minute, and for the third time in one minute, Joe Mazzello kicked him in the shin. Startled, Gwilym looked up to see Joe staring at him with his eyebrows raised.

Joe cocked his head towards the interviewer with a warning glance and Gwilym fixed his posture and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

“Sorry,” he said hurriedly. The interviewer looked a little miffed, but she softened at his apologetic smile. “What was the question?”

“I asked if each of you could tell us who was messiest, laziest, and most in-character on set,” she repeated. It was an original question, Gwilym had to give her that.

“Ben’s messiest, one hundred percent! Once he lost his drumsticks between takes and it took props an hour to find them in his trailer. Laziest…?” Gwilym pondered the question and scratched his beard, glancing at Joe in silent deliberation.  

“We were all actually pretty on top of things,” Joe answered. The interviewer gave him a playfully disbelieving look which he countered with equally charming defiance. “Honest! What’s the expression, all work and no play? Except this work was play; there was hardly ever a time I think any of us dreaded going to the set.”

Gwilym nodded; it was true, the months of shooting had been the best of his career, and some of the best of his whole life.

“Agreed. And most in character is probably Rami, even now he’s still got some of the Freddie mannerisms,” Gwilym said, “although we all really tried to stay focused any time we had our costumes on, I think.”

“I don’t know,” Joe chirped, “you were scarily like Brian even when the cameras weren’t rolling,” he said, and the interviewer laughed right on cue.

Gwilym nodded and smiled fondly; that was one thing he never minded hearing, even though it came up in every media event he did, without fail. He was so honored to have played Brian, and hearing so many comparisons drawn really humbled him.

“You two really are clones!” The interviewer joked, and Gwilym chuckled, but his mind was elsewhere. Like a pinball in a machine, his thoughts had bounced from one thing until he came right back to the same thing that had been on his mind since he’d gotten coffee with you.

_Clone. Lookalike. To look like someone, you probably had similar genetics, right?  Genes. Babies. Having a baby.  Y/N._

Fuck. He still couldn’t believe he’d really asked you if you’d carry a child for him, and he could feel the weight of his phone in his pocket, drawing his hand towards it again like a magnet.  _Will you carry for me?_ God, what had he been thinking?! Whenever he replayed the moment in his head, he cringed more and more. It didn’t help that every second that ticked by felt like a lifetime.

Coffee had been on Tuesday; now it was Saturday, and he hadn’t heard a word from you. He knew you weren’t lying when you said you were slammed this week, but Gwilym couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn’t want to talk to him.

After all, even when you were swamped at the end of last quarter, you’d still found time to send him every picture you took of a corgi in a backpack that you’d seen on the subway. And there were a lot of pictures. Because it was a corgi,  _in a_ _backpack,_ on the _subway_ , and in your words it had been “the cutest motherfucking shit I have ever seen in my lowly little life.”

Gwilym smirked at the random memory, but tried his best to focus back on the interview. Joe was busy retelling the story of how after he’d really looked at photos of John Deacon, he’d called his mom to ask what she was doing in the eighties, so Gwilym put on a smile and forced out a laugh. It was truly a funny anecdote, but he kept tricking himself into thinking his phone had buzzed, and for once, he really wanted the interview to just end.

When it finally did end and one of the cameramen had come over to take off Gwilym and Joe’s lav mics, Gwilym was finally able to check. There were a few texts from Ben and several DM requests from fans—he really should turn Instagram notifications off—but the one name he wanted to pop up on his screen was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” Joe said with a snap of his fingers, and from the tone in his voice it probably not the first time he’d tried to get Gwilym’s attention. “Ground control to Major Tom,” he joked.

“Sorry,” Gwilym responded. Again, he shoved his phone away hastily.

“What was all that?” Joe asked, jerking his thumb back towards the interview couch. “It was like you were somewhere else completely, man.”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Joe raised an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at the outline of Gwilym’s phone in his pocket. Gwilym knew that try as he might, he couldn’t keep anything from his costar.  Joe already knew about Gwilym’s plans to have a child, and hopefully soon, and he had an annoyingly charming knack for getting the truth out of people one way or another. Gwilym decided it was best to just tell him. He swallowed hard and glanced at Joe with the general look of someone about to deliver bad news.

“Fine. I asked,” he took a deep breath, “I asked Y/N if she’d have my baby.”

Silence. Then…

“You fucking didn’t.” Joe’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head and bounce across the floor. He lowered his voice when a couple lollygagging crew members looked over. “Are you serious? You asked if she’d  _have_ –?!”

Gwilym nodded. Yep, that was just about the reaction he’d expected, and it was further confirmation that he’d royally fucked up his friendship with you for good.

“Jesus, Gwil, usually you ask a lady on a date first.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’m just saying, at least wine and dine before it’s baby time!”

“Really, I’m laughing my ass off,” Gwilym said dryly, and Joe held up his hands in apology.

“Sorry. I’m just confused, though, I mean…she’s your best friend!”

“Thank you Joe, I’m aware,” Gwilym said, sounding bitter. “That’s  _why_ I asked her. Well, there were lots of reasons. I thought it’d be a good idea, but…” he trailed off with a shake of his head.  Joe squinted at Gwilym a bit suspiciously, but held his tongue.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” He said finally.  

“So am I,” Gwilym replied as he gathered his things. He pulled on his coat and he and Joe started walking towards the elevator; there was a car waiting for them outside the studio to take them to another interview.

“I’m assuming she said no, then?” Joe said sympathetically, clapping a hand on Gwilym’s back. “Well, you can still find someone. We’ll get you pregnant one way or another,” he joked, and although Gwilym appreciated the humor, he couldn’t muster a full laugh.

Instead, Gwilym shook his head at the floor and Joe’s eyes widened even further.

“She said  _yes?_ ”

“She hasn’t said anything, hence the phone-checking,” Gwilym explained. “I don’t expect her to have an answer yet, of course, but I’m nervous she’ll hate me or something. You should have seen her face when I asked.”

“That bad, huh?”

Gwilym laughed a bit sadly.

“Haven’t seen Y/N that shocked since the season finale of Westworld.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

Gwilym shrugged.

“Wait until she reaches out. I don’t want her to feel any more freaked out than she probably already is. And she knows what I asked; she doesn’t need me checking in asking if she’s thought about it any more. But hey, Joe,” he said, suddenly stopping and gripping Joe’s shoulder in a very brotherly way, “this is between us, alright?”

“Of course,” Joe said sincerely. “As they say, not my baby, not my business,” he said coyly, and Gwilym laughed and rolled his eyes as the elevator dinged out its arrival to the lobby. At just the same time, Gwilym felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his pants and he nearly dropped everything he was carrying trying to reach it.

He bumped into the concierge’s desk as he walked out the door and apologized absentmindedly as he and Joe clambered into the waiting car. It was a text from you and the message was so short he didn’t even have to unlock his phone to read it.  He felt as though his heart had tried to drop to his toes and do a soaring leap at the same time, resulting in a rather unpleasant swooping sensation as it instead just seemed to collide with the inside of his chest. 

There was just one notification: just three words underneath your saved nickname that he’d coined for you ages ago. 

**_Bear🐻:_ ** _come over tonight?_

##  _Later That Night  
_ _Your P.O.V._

Gwilym responded to your text embarrassingly fast _—“okay! nine okay?”—_ and you’d spent the better half of the afternoon cleaning your whole apartment. You were now busying yourself with straightening out your living room. Not that Gwilym would really mind if it were messy, but tidying had been on your to-do list for a while, and now you found yourself afflicted with the burning need to  _do something_ while you were waiting for him to arrive.

However, in what seemed like no time you’d already fluffed every pillow twice, vacuumed the rug with the proper attachment instead of just half-assing it with the one for hardwood, and even set out a decorative bowl of M&Ms. You soon found yourself idle once more, and with that idleness came worry. You sat on the loveseat, jiggling your leg impatiently as you tried to distract yourself with Instagram, but sadly, no amount of memes could numb your mind enough to distract you from the reason you’d invited Gwilym over.

You had made up your mind about the baby.

You were so stressed that you had half a mind to down a glass or two of wine before he got here to calm down, but even if you had decided to, you wouldn’t have had the time. Just then, you heard the earsplitting sound of your apartment buzzer. You nearly jumped a foot, then got up to answer.

“Hello?” you said, and your voice sounded higher than normal.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” you heard Gwilym say in response when you let go of the button, and you burst out laughing; he always came up with some ridiculous greeting when he came over.   _Dork._ You buzzed him in, feeling slightly more relaxed.

“Come on up,” you replied. “The mothership awaits.”

You immediately wanted to kick yourself for your word choice— _mothership, seriously?_ —and hoped he didn’t pick up on that unfortunate slip.

In the thirty seconds it took him to climb the stairs to your third floor apartment, you tried your best to calm yourself down with several deep breaths and more than a few self-directed exclamations of  _“get your shit together!!”_ Gwilym knocked a moment later and you straightened your shoulders, then opened the door.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, hoping you sounded casual. You hated feeling any smidge of awkwardness around him, as it was just so unnatural to feel anything but one hundred percent comfortable with your best friend.

“Hey, bear,” Gwilym replied warmly.

“Whoa, haven’t heard that name in years!” you exclaimed; you tried to ignore the tiny rabbits thumping around in your stomach when you heard him use the nickname. 

He came inside and greeted you with a big hug, then shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook behind the door as he always did. 

“Wow, it looks clean in here!”

“It did, until you walked in,” you teased, and he gave you a sarcastic eye roll. “But thanks, I figured it was about time.”

You took a moment to survey your handiwork; the living room was spotless, you’d put all your used dishes away, and the votive candle you lit made the whole place smell like…well, the label called it a “crisp apple rain,” but to you it just smelled nice, and that was all that mattered.

“How was your week?” you asked Gwilym, leading him towards the living room. You plopped down on the couch and he copied you with a sigh, then kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Upon your glare, though, he promptly planted them on the ground with a sheepish smile.

“It was alright, I suppose,” he replied thoughtfully. “Joe and I had a bunch of interviews, and then there was a photo shoot I’d completely forgotten about until Lisa called half an hour before—thank God they do all the hair and makeup once you get there,” he said.

You nodded overenthusiastically, intentionally poking a bit of fun at his movie star lifestyle.

“Ooh, you had to stand and look handsome for a day? Must have been rough,” you teased, and Gwilym smirked at you.

“Absolutely exhausting,” he played along. “Think I’m handsome, do you?”

“Shut up,” you laughed, nudging his knee with your own.

Gwilym held up his hands in defeat and caught your eye for a moment. You held the eye contact just briefly before he spoke again, breaking the palpable silence.

“What about you, how’d work go?”

“Ugh, let’s not even talk about my week,” you said dismissively, but then, contradicting what you’d just said, you added, “Want to know how many times my boss stared at my tits? Just guess. Ballpark estimate.”

Gwilym thought about it; he knew your boss was a Grade-A creep, and last time you’d asked Gwilym the same question he’d been surprised to find he’d grossly underestimated just how many times your boss’s eyes wandered, so he figured it was best to round up.

“Twenty,” he finally stated.

“Close, eighteen! Although I think around the tenth time time was when I did spill a bit of ranch on my nips, so I’ll let that one slide.”

“Sexy,” he laughed. “I mean, what an asshole!”

“Wow. Glad you’re doing your part to fight sexism in the workplace,” you drawled, but it was all in good fun. “And for the record, I pulled it off fantastically. Walking around the office with giant water spots on my shirt was exactly the look I was going for, so who really won in the end?”

“You truly are the quintessential working woman,” Gwilym said proudly, “Men tremble before you and your soggy tits.”

“They’d better!” you exclaimed, laughing. For a moment, you’d almost forgotten why he was at your apartment in the first place, and just enjoyed joking around with him.

Gwilym chuckled and threw one arm behind you over the back of the couch cushions and you sighed, letting your body sink backwards. You both sat in silence, listening to the cars pass by on the road outside. 

He always liked your apartment, he thought; it was nice and open, but still had distinct areas for cooking, dining, and entertaining. You room was tucked away somewhere down the hall; he’d only seen it once when he had a wee bit too much to drink at your infamous New Year’s 2016 party–he ended up wandering down the hall and passing out in your bed before midnight, and you never let him forget it. Everything about the small flat showed off your personality, he thought, even the design–it was as if the architects themselves had known that one day Y/N Y/L/N would move in.

Gwilym wasn’t sure how long he spent inspecting the exposed brick accent wall and your various posters, but soon he became all too aware of the silence that was growing steadily louder.

It wasn’t exactly an uncomfortable quiet, but you both knew there was one hell of an elephant in the room, and neither of you wanted to bring it up outright. Soon enough, though, the silence started to feel oppressive and it begged conversation. What’s more, Gwilym’s anxiousness was starting to get the best of him, and while he’d planned to breach the subject of the baby gradually, he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Y/N, can I ask—?” he began.

“Do you want a beer?” you said at exactly the same time.

“What? Uh, yeah, sure,” Gwilym replied, trying to sound nonchalant. He rubbed the back of his neck and followed you with his eyes as you made your way to the kitchenette.

“I’ve got Corona, or…Corona,” you said as you strode over to the fridge and bent down to see what you had in stock. You grabbed two bottles and an opener and came back to the couch. With a hiss and a crack, you popped the lid of each beer and handed one to Gwilym, who raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment and held up his bottle in cheers.

You clinked glasses and you drank from yours until the carbonation hurt your nose too much to keep chugging.  When you set the bottle down on your coffee table, it was already two-thirds empty. Gwilym, who was still holding his full beer at arm’s length, stared at you with one eyebrow raised; his expression was a combination of amusement and concern.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding about your week,” he laughed.

“That’s a  _good_ beer,” you said emphatically. You suppressed a burp and when you held a hand to your chest to try and let it out gracefully, you could feel how fast your heart was pounding.  _Fuck. This was it._

“It’s okay, yeah,” Gwilym agreed bemusedly. He peered at the label of the, truthfully, rather average brew and looked at you quizzically. “Are you alright?”

You nodded and tucked your legs under you so you were facing Gwilym on the couch. Best to just be out with it.

“I’m going to miss beer,” you said bluntly. You propped an elbow on the back of the sofa and leaned your head on your hand.

“What, are you going sober?” Gwilym joked. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Not forever,” you said, your mouth dry as the Sahara despite having just chugged, “This is just…going to be my last one for a while.”

You looked Gwilym in the eye, waiting for your words to sink in.

It took him a minute, but then his eyes widened and his lips parted in a little “oh” of surprise. He reached over to the table to set his beer down without breaking eye contact. He could hardly think, let alone speak. Were you saying what he thought—what he hoped—you were?  There could only be one reason you of all people would suddenly swear off alcohol, and his heart fluttered. Hell, it said it right there on the bottle.  _Women should not drink alcoholic beverages during pregnancy._

“Y/N,” he said quietly, searching your eyes for any kind of mischievous gleam, anything that might tell him this was, in fact, a joke. You certainly looked sincere, and playful though your friendship was, he doubted you’d ever go so far as to joke about this, not when you knew how much having a baby meant to him.

“Are you serious?” he whispered. He didn’t believe it, hardly  _wanted t_ o believe it in case this was all a dream he was about to wake up from.

You nodded, and although you were nervous and it felt like your heart was about to beat out of your chest, you couldn’t help the smile that cracked across your face as you took in Gwilym’s expression; he was in absolute shock, the happiest shock you’d ever seen anyone express before.

“You’ll do it? You mean it?” He said, his voice thick from the effort it took not to burst into happy tears right then and there.

You nodded again, then figured he probably wanted (and needed) some kind of verbal confirmation. You reached across the space between you and touched his arm, which quickly turned into slipping your hand into his. The contact seemed to highlight the gravity of the situation and you felt compelled to lower your voice.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it since you asked,” you said truthfully, and you felt him involuntarily squeeze your hand tighter; he couldn’t take his eyes off you. “And I figured if I was thinking about it that much, then I already knew my answer. So, the answer’s yes. I’ll carry,” you said with a smile that solidified your decision.

Gwilym had one hand covering his mouth, trying to control his emotions, but when he heard those few words he let out a muffled sob into his hand and lurched forward to wrap you in a hug.  You made out several “thank you’s” and “love you’s” as he cried into your shoulder, and you felt tears prick your eyes as well as you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed. 

It was crazy, saying yes. Flat fucking crazy, but this, right here? Gwilym’s arms around you, his reaction? That was exactly what made you so sure of your decision.  

“Wait—I’m not making you feel like you  _have_ to say yes, right?” Gwilym suddenly asked as he pulled away and held you by your shoulders. He looked deep into your eyes as he said, “I don’t want you to do it if you feel obligated or forced in any way.”

You knew what that was—a chance to back out—but you didn’t want to. You shook your head and felt his grip on your shoulders relax a bit.  To drive your point home, you reached up and across your chest and laid your hand on top of his on your shoulder.

“I want to do this, Gwil,” you said, and you meant it. “I know how much it means to you, and if I can help in any way, let alone such an important way, I’m…I’m in.”

Gwilym pulled you into his arms again. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. You could feel his gratitude in the way he held you, always so strong and steadfast even though he was a mess of emotion.

“I have a few conditions, though,” you said after you had shared the moment. Gwilym nodded and pulled away. He sniffled and you handed him a tissue so he could get himself together. Still, even though the tears were now gone, the emotion was still there in his blue eyes.

“Anything,” he said breathlessly.

“We have to wait until May,” you said hesitantly, hoping that wouldn’t upset him, “I earned a spot on our business trip at the end of next month, so I can’t have any doctor’s appointments getting in the way of that, but then I’m in the clear,” you explained. “I’ll have to go off my birth control anyway, so that’s going to throw my period for a bit of a loop before it gets back to normal.”

“Sure, of course!” Gwilym agreed. May was a couple of months off, but he knew that would fly by. “And speaking of doctors, there’s a really well-known, highly rated fertility doctor not too far from here. I had a friend who went to him when he and his wife couldn’t conceive and I know that’s not exactly our situation, but he’s still one of the best in the field.”

“Perfect. I’ll still want to do a consultation, but that sounds great.” You nodded; it would definitely be a comfort to know you wouldn’t have to travel far. And you liked that he had said “ _our_ situation”; you weren’t alone in this, not at all.

“Second condition—if people ask, we tell them. I mean, we can be vague with strangers, but we tell our families what we’re doing. I know we can make our own decisions and all, but I don’t need my aunt thinking I just got knocked up by accident,” you said, and Gwilym nodded, remembering how persnickety some of your relatives were. “We don’t need to broadcast that I’m going to carry for you, but it doesn’t need to be some big secret either. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely. Any other conditions?” Gwilym asked.

“Just that you—” you smiled and poked him in the chest—“No matter how hormonal or angry or gross-looking I get, you can’t judge me. I’m going to have your little human nugget inside me, so even if it is six in the morning and I’m puking up dinner from the night before, you better treat me like a god damn angel and answer my FaceTime.”

He laughed and nodded.

“Deal. My nugget, I like that,” he said with a soft smile.

Your tone was playful, but it was a serious situation. You knew taking on this pregnancy would mean you and Gwilym were going to become close in ways even the two of you had never experienced before. He knew it, too, and it wasn’t something he took lightly. Doctors. Ultrasounds. All kinds of bodily fluids, yecch. Probably some failed attempts before it actually worked.  And once it did, Gwilym was definitely going to have to be on the receiving end of your symptoms and cravings at some point, but he was ready to stop by with Haagen-Dazs and dill pickles at all hours of the morning if you needed it.  

He couldn’t wait.

“You’re the best friend I could ever ask for, you know that?” he said weakly. He pulled you into another hug and you felt your heart constrict a little bit at his words. Your voice came out a bit muffled since your cheek was smushed against his shoulder as you said,

“I would only do this for you, you know.”

“I know.”

“And even though this was my decision, I will definitely curse your name at some point, probably around the third trimester if not sooner.”

“I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Gwilym laughed and kissed the top of your head. “I don’t know how to thank you. I really don’t.”

You looked up at him and smiled, all joking aside. You’d never felt more intimidated by—nor more  _absolutely_ sure about—any decision you’d made prior to this one.

“You can thank me by being the most incredible dad,” you said, “and I know that’s exactly what you’ll be.”


	3. Chapter 3

##  **APRIL 20 – The Consultation**

Dr. Harrison was a well-respected doctor in the business. Extremely well-respected, you knew that, but it was hard to take him seriously when he had a larger-than-life diorama of a penis sitting on his desk, right next to his name plate.

You snickered to yourself as you looked at it, then quickly made your expression more serious as Dr. Harrison came into the room to begin your consultation. Considering it was only eight in the morning, you felt wide awake.  You and Gwilym sat in his office, in two identical chairs, arms folded in your laps and feeling oddly like two schoolchildren who’d been sent to the principal’s office for scolding. You knew, though, that the reason you were there was far from reprimand.

“So,” Dr. Harrison said as he sat down, “I see you’re here for a consultation regarding Intrauterine Insemination, or IUI, if you will.  Today is just going to be a brief meeting to discuss the process and why you’d like to move forward with it. I’ll ask you several questions and you are more than welcome to ask me anything that comes to mind, but I do ask first and foremost that you answer everything honestly and to the best of your knowledge. Do you have any immediate questions?”

You looked at Gwilym, who raised his eyebrows at you then turned to Dr. Harrison.

“We’d mostly just like to know about the timeline we’d be looking at,” Gwilym said. “We know this could take more than one session, so we’d like to get started as soon as possible!”

Dr. Harrison nodded and chuckled. “I understand completely! Having trouble conceiving naturally can lead to a sense of urgency, but don’t worry, we’ll figure out what the problem is and move forward as quickly as we can!”

You stared at the doctor blankly; you didn’t have any trouble conceiving naturally. Hadn’t even  _tried_ conceiving naturally…it was Gwilym, for fuck’s sake!  You realized as soon as you had that thought, though, that it probably wasn’t as obvious to the doctor that you weren’t having any issues.

“Actually, we’re both fertile,” you informed the doctor.  “Oh!” you gasped, suddenly remembering something. “It should all be in here, my bad,” you said, and pulled out a thin manila folder from your purse. It contained several test results from yours and Gwilym’s respective physicians, all indicating perfectly healthy and normal reproductive systems. You smiled at the memory of meeting Gwil for dinner the night after you both got your results back, and high-fiving for  _“NORMAL GONADS!”_

Dr. Harrison nodded slowly as he perused the files you handed over.

“Ah, I do see that here…no trouble spots…Y/N, all your hormone levels are perfectly normal.” He picked up Gwilym’s document. “No history of infertility or erectile dysfunction, either.”

“Good for you!” you joked, patting Gwilym on the back. He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“We know it doesn’t seem to make sense,” Gwilym explained to the doctor. “But IUI is really our only viable option.”

“I see,” said the doctor. “Well, even when everything looks alright on paper, you canstill have trouble conceiving naturally. I see this in clients more often than you’d expect, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of! Sometimes two people work perfectly together in every way but one. How long have you been trying to get pregnant?”

You stifled a laugh and stared fixatedly at the penis on Dr. Harrison’s desk. You then glanced over at Gwilym, who looked at you like he was trying to hide a smile. You nodded addressed the doctor again.

“Gwil and I…we aren’t, uh, sexually active?” You squinted as you tried to explain, unsure of how to word things without being too blunt. “I mean, we  _are_ , I think, well— _I’m_ not, haven’t been for a while,” you rambled, scratching the back of your neck. Luckily, Gwilym had your back and decided to save you from yourself.

“What she means is we haven’t had sex. With each other,” Gwilym clarified.

Dr. Harrison looked politely confused.

“You do realize quite a bit of penetrative intercourse does have to happen before you conceive naturally, yes?”

_Jesus, doc, just say sex_ , you couldn’t help but think to yourself.

“Yes, we know that,” Gwilym said, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink.

“Well,” the doctor said, “IUI is usually meant for couples who are having fertility problems, or same sex couples. That’s not to say you cannot opt for the procedure, but it is a bit unusual to see a couple choose this method when intercourse would likely work just fine for the two of you.”

_Good lord._ You would have been perfectly happy if the ground opened up and swallowed you whole. You thought it would have said somewhere in the fine print that you weren’t married, let alone a couple at all, but it seemed that that hadn’t been pertinent enough information.  

“For Christ’s sake,” you finally laughed, “We’re not together! He’s my best friend, and wants a kid, so I’m carrying. We don’t  _want_ to have sex with each other.”

Gwilym looked at you with a smile and nodded in agreement.

“Oh, my apologies!” Dr. Harrison replied quickly, and you and Gwilym both laughed softly, more to ease the doctor’s embarrassment than anything. “In that case, yes, this is definitely your best option. It’s minimally invasive, far less expensive than alternate methods, and quite a quick procedure. You could be in and out in as little as half an hour.”

“Great!” Gwilym exclaimed, and you and he exchanged an excited glance. “What’s your success rate here, with IUI?”

“Well, for couples struggling with conception it’s around a 15-percent chance of success from the first procedure, and it gets a bit higher from there. But since you don’t face any of those obstacles, I’d say your chances are quite good—likely even better than your chances of natural pregnancy. Which—and I apologize, I just need to clarify—is not an option whatsoever?”

“No,” Gwilym chuckled, and you nodded. “No offense,” he quickly added as an aside to you.

“None taken,” you replied. “And yeah, if we were going to have sex, it probably would have happened by now!” It was a joke, and although the doctor allowed a small laugh in response, you missed the way Gwilym furrowed his brow bemusedly for a split second before slapping on a smile again.

“When can we make an appointment?” he asked.

“Right now! Of course, we’ll have to schedule it on or around your ovulation date, Y/N, to give you the best chances of conception. According to your file,” he glanced at the part of the form where you’d filled out the date of your last three periods, “that should be about two weeks from now.”

“It’s usually the 2nd of each month,” you said matter-of-factly. Dr. Harrison nodded and turned back to his computer.

“Amazing. How do you know that?” Gwilym asked under his breath.

“I have an app,” you said simply, shrugging. “iPeriod” was a lifesaver.

“Oh. Should I get it too?” he whispered earnestly, and you shook your head with a smile; he sure was cute.

“Alright, I’ve put you in for August second at nine in the morning,” the doctor announced.

“ _August?_ ” you and Gwilym yelped loudly at the same time. That was nearly three months away!

Dr. Harrison nodded. “That’s my earliest open slot, unless you’re comfortable with one of our nurses administering the procedure instead of me. I can assure you they’re all top notch with years of experience; it’s just a matter of what you’d prefer.”

“When can we come in if we do that?” you asked.

“As soon as your next ovul—”

“We’ll do it,” you and Gwilym said, again in unison.

You had already waited far too long and you were far too excited to push off the big day any further. Besides, you’d done the very simple math in your head—if you got pregnant right at the beginning of May, most of the big belly months would be in the winter. You figured you had tons of oversized sweaters already, and those would save you some money where maternity wear was concerned. It seemed trivial, but it was a good idea to plan ahead whenever possible!  And who wouldn’t love a January baby?

“Alright, then, I can put you down for May 2nd instead, that’s in…” he quickly did the mental calculation, “Twelve days.”

“Twelve days,” Gwilym nodded, sounding a bit breathless and looking very relieved. “We can wait twelve more days.”

“Excellent! And would you like to do the full procedure then, or just the insemination?” Dr. Harrison asked, his fingers poised above the keyboard, ready to type.

“Sorry?” you asked, unsure of the difference.

Dr. Harrison smiled patiently and glanced at Gwilym, who looked confused as well.

“Would you like to provide a semen sample now or on the second?” Dr. Harrison clarified. “If you do it now, there won’t be any wait time on the day of your appointment. We can do the sperm wash in the interim and you’ll be in and out much faster two weeks from now.”

_Oh. That part._

“Oh,” said Gwilym, his voice a bit higher than usual. He looked at you for approval, or maybe a decision, and you shrugged, giving him the go-ahead to choose himself.  “Sure, I guess I’ll do it now, then,” he answered. “Might as well.”

“Wonderful,” said Dr. Harrison. “If you’ll follow me down the hall, I’ll give you further instruction, and there’s a men’s room right next to Room Two with anything you might need.”

God, you wished it was socially acceptable to whip out your phone at that moment and snap a picture—Gwilym’s face was absolutely priceless. Beet red, too. At Dr. Harrison’s gesture, you both stood and exited the room after him.

“I’ll just wait out there,” you said a bit awkwardly, jerking your thumb over your shoulder towards the waiting room. “Come find me once you’ve—when you’re done,” you said, and although Gwilym still looked a bit embarrassed, he smiled and heaved a quick, deep breath.

“See you on the other side,” he said, and disappeared down the hallway with the doctor.

Once he’d come back out ten or so minutes later— _promising_ that he’d washed his hands—you left the doctor’s office in good spirits. All that stood between you and a pregnancy now was a matter of days.

##  **TWO WEEKS LATER  
** **May 2 – The Big Day.**

You never liked waiting rooms. Who did, really? They were seldom welcoming and you could never quite tell if they were actually clean or riddled with germs from various patients. The chairs were either too stiff or too cushy, and there was always that one corner of the room filled with what looked like centuries-old children’s toys and ripped books.

Not here, though. Sitting in the waiting room at the fertility doctor was significantly less chaotic—no one was there because they were sick, and there were no children’s toys, mostly because the people waiting had no children yet. That was why they were there in the first place.  

You crossed one leg over the other and drummed your fingertips on the armrest of your chair. You squinted at a poster on the wall; it was a cross section of a pregnant woman’s torso and abdomen, complete with a little cartoon baby inside and several bullet points of information. You caught the eye of a slightly older couple sitting a few chairs away, and the woman gave you a small smile. You returned the gesture; it actually made you feel much calmer.

Well, as calm as any woman could be before heading into a small room to get pregnant with her best friend’s baby.

You were very glad you’d had your business trip between the consultation date and now; if you hadn’t had that to occupy your time, you were certain you’d have gone stir crazy with anticipation. How Gwilym managed to handle the wait considering he was between projects and wasn’t rushing off to set every day, you had no idea.

Currently, Gwilym was immersed in one of the many magazines on the corner table. He had his right foot balanced on his left knee as he furrowed his brow and his eyes whizzed over the lines of text at hyper speed. Judging from the blurb on the cover, it was an in-depth article about the rising cost of maternity clothing.  He looked very concerned.

He was trying his best to stay calm as well, but you could tell by the slight bounce of his knee and the way he kept flicking his eyes down towards his watch that he was barely containing his excitement.

“How long until we’re in?” you asked him yet again. The appointment was for 9a.m., and the clock was now ticking its way slowly towards 9:05.

He checked his watch—as if he hadn’t just done so ten seconds ago. “Any minute now.”

You took a deep breath and tried to relax—the past month and some-odd weeks had been quite a blur. It seemed like just yesterday you’d told Gwilym you would carry his baby, and now here you were, about to make it happen. Well, hopefully. Dr. Harrison had said your chances were very good, but you couldn’t shake the slight anxiety that this might not work right away. For the sake of yours and Gwilym’s peace of mind—and for the sake of his wallet—you hoped this would be the only time you had to try.

You weren’t afraid; the nerves were more from excitement than anything.  After all, the procedure was quick, nearly painless, and your extensive research coupled with the information you’d gotten at the consultation last week meant you knew exactly what to expect.

“Mr. Lee and Ms. Y/L/N?”

The cool, female voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you and Gwilym stood up so fast you nearly knocked each other over. You looked over to see one of the nurses, a very motherly looking woman in her mid-forties, smiling at you over her clipboard. Her nametag read “Jeannie” and she’d stuck a few Clip-Art style baby stickers on it.

Gwilym waved at the nurse to identify himself and she beckoned for you and him to follow her. You took one last look around the waiting room, and the same woman you’d made eye contact with before smiled at you again and mouthed,  _“Good luck!”_

“This is it,” Gwilym said in a hushed voice. “Ready?”

“Yep,” you said confidently.

“Got everything?”

“It’s a walk down the hall, not a vacation, Gwil,” you chuckled. “But yes.”

“Are you nervous?”

“A bit. I’m more worried about you!” You couldn’t resist poking a bit of fun at him; after all, he’d had to pull over on the way to the doctor’s office and let you drive because his hands were shaking so badly.

“I’m ready. And you’re  _sure_ you’re ovulating?”

This many questions from anyone else would drive you up the wall, but coming from Gwilym it was nothing short of endearing.

“It feels like someone’s shoving a butter knife into my uterus and my tits feel like they’re just giant, heavy bruises, so…affirmative,” you replied.

“I’m so sorry,” he laughed, then you looked each other in the eye and nodded; it was time. As you started walking, you found yourself feeling quite grateful that Gwilym had a sturdy hand on the middle of your back. He reached up and squeezed your shoulder comfortingly as you followed Jeannie into Room Four.  

“My name’s Jeannie, I’ll be conducting your IUI today!” Jeannie said as she ushered you into the room.

“Nice to meet you,” you said as you walked in and took a look around. That was an appropriate thing to say to the woman who was about to open up your vagina, right?

It looked like any other doctor’s or gynecologist’s office you’d been in; there was a table covered in thin paper, and plenty of glass jars filled with cotton balls, empty pipettes, and baby wipes. The only thing that stood out was the rolling table Jeannie had set up, on which lay gloves, a small vial and a wrapped syringe, and some tools that looked completely unused, albeit a bit medieval.

“I just need you to confirm that the information on your sample is accurate,” Jeannie said pleasantly. She held up the vial, which almost looked empty, but you knew what was inside. Gwilym checked (then double-checked) the label and nodded. “And how are you feeling?” Jeannie asked you cheerfully.

“Great!” you said with a huge smile, and it was true. “Ready to get this show on the road.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Jeannie chirped. “If you wouldn’t mind removing everything from the waist down, I’ll have you lie right on the table.”

“Do you want me to step out?” Gwilym asked, ever the gentleman, as you started unbuttoning your jeans.

You shook your head no.

“Just turn around until I’m decent,” you quipped, and he and Jeannie both cracked up at the joke. You were glad you could all just accept the oddity of the situation and get on with it. “All set,” you said a moment later, and Gwilym turned back around to see that you were lying on the table with your feet in the stirrups, a white sheet covering your hips and legs.  When you smiled at him and gave a thumbs-up, he was overcome with a rush of emotion—gratitude, amazement, disbelief,  _love_ —and he shakily grabbed the spare chair in the room and pulled it over to sit next to you.

Jeannie busied herself with putting on her gloves and let you have a moment. Gwilym took your hand in his and you made a silly, scrunched up face at him which he returned—that had always been one of your “things” that had developed over the course of your friendship. Stressed? Silly face. Upset and need to crack a smile? Make an even sillier one. Filled with emotion and can’t find the words to say to really express how much you’re feeling at a given moment? Apparently that called for a silly face as well, and Gwilym felt like his heart might burst.

“Dr. Harrison told me you two are just friends,” Jeannie said after a moment, mostly for the sake of curating comfortable bedside banter, and you both nodded. “Well, you must be very close. This is an incredible thing you’re doing, Y/N.”

“It’s an incredible person I’m doing it for,” you pointed out, and Jeannie smiled warmly, her gaze flicking between you and Gwilym almost like she knew something the two of you didn’t.

“Could you scoot towards me just a bit?” she asked a moment later, and you complied. The movement made you have to spread your legs a bit more and when you caught Gwilym’s eye you could see the question in his gaze, so you answered it for him with a squeeze of his hand.

“I want you here,” you said simply, and that was all he needed to hear.

“How are you feeling?” Jeannie checked in again.

“Uh, exposed,” you said honestly, and she smiled at you—well, she actually smiled more at your—ahem— _nether regions_ as she rolled her chair in closer, but it was a grin nonetheless. “I’m fine, though,” you added.

The procedure itself only took a few minutes; you felt a bit of pain with the insertion of the tools, but it was no worse than a mild cramp—still, you thought again of how much you wanted it to work one the first go. Trying for a baby naturally was at least  _fun_ , but you’d be perfectly happy if you never had to do IUI again. Dr. Harrison had been correct in saying it went fast, at least; before you knew it, Jeannie was already preparing the syringe.

God, this was fucking wild _._ There you were, lying with your legs open wide like a couple of barn doors so the cows could come home, about to let Jeannie-with-the-baby-sticker nametag get you pregnant. If you were being honest with yourself, you and Gwilym probably could have taken a few—okay,  _many_ —shots of whiskey and banged it out in a one-off, but somehow this felt right.

“Are you ready, Y/N?”

This was it. The grand finale. The big moment. The proverbial hammer was about to fall.

You took a deep breath and felt Gwilym squeeze your hand, then nodded.

“Ready.”

“Remember,” said Jeannie as she took off her gloves, “No pregnancy tests at home. We need you back here in two weeks and we’ll do a blood test then to find out.”

You nodded, pulling your jeans back on. Gwilym made a noise of acknowledgement from where he stood facing the wall once more until you’d dressed.  

“The waiting is the hardest part, but the best advice I can give you is to just keep living your life as you normally would.  Don’t put too much stake on this, it’ll spare you a bit of disappointment if this try doesn’t work,” said Jeannie comfortingly.

“Got it. May 16th, we’ll be here,” you said. “Can I give you a hug?” you then blurted out, and Jeannie nodded with a radiant smile. You embraced and felt tears prick the back of your eyes; Gwilym, too, was emotional and you caught his eye over the nurse’s shoulder.

On the way out, you couldn’t help but feel wave after wave of accomplishment and anticipation; still, while you felt like you were on Cloud Nine, you couldn’t deny that one the car ride home from the appointment, the air between you and Gwilym felt different, though not necessarily in a bad way.

“You’re quiet,” Gwilym observed on the drive home.

“Shh!”

Gwilym immediately dropped his voice to a whisper. “Why?”

“I’m praying to the pregnancy goddess,” you said, somehow with a straight face. “To make this work so we can get you a god damn kid like you wanted!”

He laughed and kept his eyes trained on the road, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh.

“You’re a rock star, you know that?” He said.

“Oh, I know,” you said, and mimed tossing your hair over your shoulder.

Gwilym shook his head in amused awe and you watched him with a sort of appreciative wonder; he was still your best friend, obviously, but your relationship seemed to run even deeper than that now. To anyone driving by, you probably looked like an average couple of pals in a car, maybe heading to a movie or out for drinks. No one had any way of knowing you’d just taken one of the biggest steps you could take in life, and with each other.

“How do you feel?” Gwilym asked a minute later and you rolled your eyes and looked at him as if to say  _seriously?_

“What’s that face for?” He chuckled. “You just got inseminated, Y/N, that doesn’t exactly happen every day!” He paused. “Do you feel any different?”

You knew what he meant by different. Different meant pregnant.

“I don’t think it works like that,” you said, raising one eyebrow.  “We won’t know for a while yet, and if you’re planning on asking me how I feel every day until we do, I’m grabbing the first vacuum I see and sticking it right up there,” you joked, indicating your pelvis.

“Well it definitely doesn’t work like  _that_ ,” Gwilym said with an amused look on his face.

You sighed and flopped back against the seat.

“Two weeks,” you said. Gwilym nodded as he turned onto your street.

“Two weeks.”

##  **_TWO WEEKS LATER  
_** ** _May 16 th– the Results_**

Back at the fertility doctor once more, you were squeezing Gwilym’s hand so hard your knuckles were turning white and his fingertips were flushed red from the pressure. It felt like your heart was a ticking time bomb and you were damn near certain you could hear the erratic thumping of his own heartbeat as you waited for what felt like the longest ten minutes of your life. You’d already waited a few hours, which made for a torturous meal at the café down the street, but that was still preferable to having your sample sent to a different lab for testing. The office had called once they ran the analysis and now you were back where it all began, feeling like you were about to lose the lunch you’d just had.

You felt a nearly sickening combination of exhilaration and anxiety as you waited for Jeannie to return with the simple (but so important) answer—yes or no.

Suddenly, you were hit with a burst of emotion. Before you knew it, you were breathing fast and you wrapped the thumb of your free hand in your sleeve to dab at your eye and catch the tears threatening to fall.

“Hey,” said Gwilym softly, earnestly. He didn’t even have to ask what the reason for your tears was. “It’s okay. It’s okay if it’s negative.”

“I know, I’m just anxious, and I just—I don’t want to let you down or anything,” you sniffled, relieves you had at least managed to refrain from full on ugly sobbing.

Gwilym’s face softened and he bowed his head a bit lower so you caught the movement in the corner of your eye and looked at him.

“You could never,” he said, and he hoped you knew just how much he meant that. “If it’s a no, then we come back as soon as it’s the right time again, that’s all!”

“But it’s expensive, Gwil, I feel so bad—”

“Don’t worry about the cost,” he cut you off with a sort of warm finality. “It’s worth it, all of this is.”

Just then, Jeannie opened the door and you and Gwilym both sat up straight, looking at her expectantly. She glanced between the two of you but her eyes betrayed nothing; she then consulted her clipboard and flipped through a couple pages before taking a deep breath.

“Well?” Gwilym asked; he couldn’t help it.

Jeannie looked at you both again and then her face broke into a huge smile.

“Congratulations,” she said simply, and this time you did start ugly sobbing, but it was out of joy and excitement and  _relief_.

“Really?” asked Gwilym in a whisper. Then, it seemed to hit him and he stood, pulling you up with him, and wrapped you in one of his biggest bear hugs to date.

“Holy shit,” Gwilym laughed airily when you pulled away from each other, and you nodded in agreement.  _Holy shit, indeed._ “I can’t wait to tell the guys, you’ll have to be there, of course!” he added breathlessly. You nodded and made a mental note to have a camera ready when Gwilym told Rami, Ben, and Joe. “And our families, and—hell, everybody!” he exclaimed.

Behind you, you could vaguely hear Jeannie going over your next steps and what to do from this point forward, but she seemed to realize her words were falling on deaf ears.

“I know you’re too excited to hear all I’m saying right now, so here,” Jeannie cut in, and handed you a thick packet you assumed contained everything you needed to know.  “Call Dr. Harrison’s line if you have any concerns!” You took the papers from her and wiped your eyes; Gwilym was tearful too and wrapped one arm tightly around your shoulders.

As you walked past all the “What to Expect” posters and diagrams in the waiting room on your way out, you felt a swooping sensation in your stomach that had nothing to do with the little bundle of soon-to-be-life that was in there. It had everything to do with the knowledge that this was real, and it was happening, and that in nine months’ time, the one thing Gwilym had always wanted would be a reality.

“You’re going to be a dad!” you said cheerfully, squeezing Gwilym around the waist as you walked down the hallway to the exit. He was positively  _beaming._

It didn’t really register at that moment, but the fact that he was going to be a dad…well shit, that also meant that you were going to be a mom.


	4. Chapter 4

##  **MID-AUGUST – 13 Weeks**

“God damn it.”

You groaned the words into your pillow, fighting the forces trying to get you to wake up. You could tell from the delicate blue of the world outside your bedroom window that dawn was breaking, but apparently your stomach wasn’t going to wait until the sun rose. You felt the familiar, nauseous tickling in your abdomen as you slowly woke up and swung your legs over the side of your bed. As it had every morning this week, the room spun as you plodded towards the bathroom and as you had done  _every fucking morning this week_ , you started the day kneeling in front of the toilet.

If there had been any doubt that you were pregnant, the morning sickness that started about a month after you got the big news confirmed everything. The first time it happened, it actually hadn’t been in the morning at all; you were visiting your parents for the day when in an ironic twist of fate, you’d had to bolt to the bathroom right as you were preparing to tell your family that you were pregnant.

That’s one way to announce it, you supposed.

And so began what was now nearing seven weeks of daily nausea; Gwilym felt horrible when you first told him what was going on—he apologized profusely, even though you both knew that when you’d agreed to carry for him, you’d signed up for all the less than glamorous side effects that came with it.  You’d assured him that you were okay and that it would pass, but he still came over the next night with your favorite takeaway. He ended up holding your hair back when you upchucked that as well. What are best friends for, right?

All things considered, the first few months of pregnancy had gone relatively smoothly. You were on top of all the doctor’s visits—you had another one next week—and although the nausea wasn’t fun, it wasn’t as bad as some of the horror stories you’d heard.  Gwilym had been and continued to be incredible; he came to every appointment and bought nearly every baby book he could find; he was determined to be as knowledgeable as possible, and you’d bet good money that he had  _“What to Expect When You’re Expecting”_  memorized by now. You saw each other a few times a week; he always made time for you, and even though now a lot of your conversations revolved around pregnancy talk, he was still the same old Gwilym, still your best friend.  Knowing you had him made the whole ordeal much easier.

This morning, however, was a doozy. Even an hour after you’d first woken up feeling queasy, you were still sitting on the bathroom floor; you’d gotten up just long enough to grab a cushion and a book, but didn’t trust yourself to move for more than a couple of minutes.

You glanced at your phone; it was nearly 7 in the morning. Gwil would definitely be awake by now; he always woke up early to go jogging, the absolute madman. Sure enough, when you tapped the FaceTime call button and he picked up, he was sweaty and red in the face.

“I didn’t interrupt, did I?” you said tiredly, not even caring that you looked like an actual sewer rat in the front facing camera.

Gwil shook his head; the screen froze for a moment before he was back.

“Nope, just finished. Everything okay?”

You switched to the back camera to show him where you were—porcelain throne and all.

“Still?” He asked, sounding sympathetic. “I thought it was supposed to go away by now.  I’m sorry, bear, if I could puke for you I would.”

“I know. I just thought you ought to share in my misery a bit. I’m like Mount Vesuvius today,” you complained.

Gwilym made an amusedly disgusted face at your analogy, the camera jostling a bit as he walked back to his car.

“Lovely visual, thanks for that,” he said, and you stuck your tongue out at him. “How’s the bump?” he asked, his face lighting up just at the mere thought of the baby.

You rubbed your stomach; it didn’t really look much different than it had a few months ago. You were anxiously awaiting when you would really start to show; that was an intimidating thought, but it was also exciting, and you and Gwilym both wanted visual proof of the baby.

“Still not really a bump,” you sighed, “More like a pebble. But definitely in there.”

Gwilym gave the camera a toothy, cheerful smile and you could tell by the way it was shaking that he was walking back to his car. He got in and it was suddenly much easier to hear him.

“I know you don’t feel great—”

“I feel like shit,” you interjected.

“I know you feel like shit,” Gwilym amended, “But do you think you’ll still be up for going to Ben’s later? I think if I have to wait any longer to tell them, I’ll spontaneously combust. I wish I were kidding, but I really can’t keep it a secret much longer,” he chuckled. “Besides, Rami’s already given me shit for wanting to have a family breakfast, apparently 9:30 is too early for his royal highness,” Gwil laughed. “If we cancel now I think he’ll murder me.”

You rubbed your temple and nodded. Fuck, that’s right, that was today. You and Gwilym had decided it was time to tell the guys, and had put out a group text yesterday asking when they were available. It turned out they all had a couple hours free today.

“Yeah, I can go. I’ll just finish up with this bullshit—” you panned to the toilet again, “—shower, and then you said you can pick me up, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll come by at nine, we can be fashionably late,” he said with a smile.  Ben lived a considerable way from you, about a half-hour drive without traffic, but you knew Gwilym was trying to be considerate and give you as much time as you needed to get over the morning sickness.

Speaking of which. You smiled back, but weakly; you could feel another wave of nausea coming on and even though Gwil had already seen you throw up right in front of him before, you decided to spare him a 7 a.m. show.  You didn’t even want to open your mouth to tell him you had to hang up, but you didn’t have to. He could read the discomfort on your face even through his small phone screen.

“Uh-oh,” he said warily, “Are you—?”

“I’ll see you later,” you said quickly, then hung up before he could witness the next eruption.

Gwilym picked you up right on time; you were waiting outside in the morning summer sun for less than a minute before he drove up to the curb.

“We should think of a fun way to tell them,” you suggested excitedly once he pulled onto the main road, “like how people put a bun in the oven or say it as they’re taking a picture or something!” You laughed as you imagined the boys’ faces; Rami would sit in silence for a few seconds before responding with calm congratulations, Ben wouldn’t get it at first, but would then jump up with huge hugs for you both, and Joe? Well, he’d probably cry, pass out, and demand to be godfather, though not necessarily in that order.

You looked over at Gwilym, who was focused on the road and kept flicking his eyes up at the rearview mirror with a frown.

“Earth to Gwil,” you teased. He glanced over a moment later.

“Sorry, that Prius was on my ass—what’d you say?”

“I said we should have a funny way of announcing it,” you repeated, “We can film it!”

Gwil lolled his head from side to side like he was considering it, but he didn’t look all that enthused.

“I don’t think we really need to do that,” he said finally.

_Oh. Okay_ , you thought. That hadn’t been what you expected him to say, especially when you knew for a fact—you’d  _been_ there when it happened—that he’d had his brother film while he told his parents by making them play the Whisper Challenge (“You’re going to be grandparents!” he said while they struggled to hear him over the music playing in their headphones. “You’re in your underpants?” they guessed. It took nearly fifteen minutes before they got it right!)

“Why not?” you asked him, and Gwilym shrugged.

“Well, I just know if we film it, then Joe’s going to post it, and you know how it is when Joe posts anything, let alone something like that. I don’t know if we really need all that attention right now, you know?”

You stared at him blankly for a second, but covered your surprise well.

“Jeez, who pissed in your Wheaties this morning?”

Gwilym huffed a laugh and signaled right; he reached over and squeezed your knee as he turned.

“I just don’t want to end up telling  _everyone_ today.”

“So you’re just not going to tell your fans you’re having a baby?” you said. “That’s a tough secret to keep.”

“No, I will. But I should be the one to do it, and not through some silly Instagram video, if that makes sense. It’s a serious deal.”

You had to admit, you didn’t expect that reaction from him, but you could see his side of things as well. Still, you were a little miffed at the way he’d kind of shut your idea down, and you shifted a bit uncomfortably in your seat.

“Fine, we won’t record it. Can we still do a fun joke, though? Think of their faces, come on, it’d be hilarious.”

Gwil grinned at you.

“Of course. Actually, I’ve got an idea,” he said, suddenly noticing a certain road sign—he pulled into the leftmost lane to turn into the parking lot.

“Uh, what?” you asked amusedly, “Now we’ll be even later.”

Gwilym chuckled; you hadn’t noticed. He nodded up towards the storefront and your mouth fell open in a surprised smile; it was called  _Plan Baby_ (you couldn’t resist giggling at the name) and the front windows were full of mannequin mothers and fathers with their little plastic children in strollers, on changing tables, and other various parental scenes.

“Come on, we’ll make it quick,” Gwilym promised, then hopped out and ran around the car to get your door. You gave him an ‘ _oh, please’_ look; you were more than capable of getting out of a car yourself.

“You better still help me when I’m going on 9 months and I look like Wario,” you said, and Gwilym nodded and gave you a little mock-bow.

“Of course, milady.”

“You’re such a dork,” you laughed, your previous annoyance at him forgotten, and then you headed into the store.  As you walked side by side, you reached up and rubbed a little circle in the middle of Gwilym’s back as the sliding doors opened and you entered what could only be described as babytopia.  

“I’m thinking onesies,” Gwilym suggested as you tried to navigate the store.  “We can get one for each of them, ‘best uncle’ or something, and see if they get it.”

“Definitely,” you nodded. “Now where do we find those?”

The place was a maze of smiling baby stock images on posters, toys, and other expectant parents meandering the rows of shelves. Aisle Two, diapers and baby powder; Aisle Six, infant medicine and vitamins; Aisle 15— _holy shit, it went up to fifteen?!—_ strollers, build-your-own cribs, and Exersaucers.

“There!” you said finally—Aisle 8, baby clothing.  “Gwil?” You looked around, but your best friend was nowhere to be seen. He had just been next to you a second ago; he couldn’t have gotten far.

“Hey, Y/N!” you heard coming from the next aisle over.  _Ah. Found him._ “Look!”

You rounded the corner to see Gwilym…crouching on the floor? He had found a small section of the store that was designated, it appeared, to show customers what certain play mats actually looked like when they were out of the box. There were five or six of them spread out in the small area and Gwilym was kneeling beside a particularly vibrant one. It was covered in cartoon animals and plants, several of which had different textures to mimic various furs. It also had a bunch of toy mirrors and bells sewn into the mat.

“How cool is this?” Gwilym asked you excitedly, poking at a duck on the mat that squeaked when you pushed hard enough. “It says ‘perfect for enrichment and hours of playtime,’ Y/N, we have to get it.”

You were a bit shocked to feel tears sting the corners of your eyes as you smiled down at him; you knew from the start he was excited to be a dad, but seeing how amazed he was right now really tugged at your heartstrings in a way you hadn’t felt before. You involuntarily put one hand on your stomach as you watched him tinker with the little bells and Velcro on the mat, but as soon as that burst of joy came, it was replaced by something much more melancholy.

You could see it now—in just six months, he’d still be sitting beside a mat just like that, but with his baby lying on it, smiling up at him with a smile that would look just like his.  They’d have those hours of playtime, but you wouldn’t be there. You were just carrying, you reminded yourself— _had_ to remind yourself—just helping out with the female side of things that Gwilym couldn’t do alone.  

“This doesn’t look like the onesie aisle,” you said after a moment, trying your best to sound playful and not cross.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “It’s just so fun,” he laughed as he got to his feet.

“I love it,” you said honestly, “But we’re ten minutes late already!”

“I know, I know,” Gwilym said, then took your hand and led you towards the clothing aisle.  

You had no idea there were so many onesie styles until you started picking through the different options; they even had a couple of hooks full of onesies specifically for announcing a pregnancy, so after about five minutes, you settled on buying three of the same one: it was a simple purple color and it said  _“Coming this January!”_ The store had one for every month, which was really quite thoughtful on their part.

“Perfect,” you said, smiling wide when Gwilym held one of the onesies up to his chest like one might hold up a shirt they were considering buying. The difference in size was astounding, and you felt another pang of something like sadness deep in your chest as you envisioned Gwilym holding such a tiny human in his arms, while you…while you what? Sat at home, waiting for him to call and say the baby needed nursing again? Waited for him to come over for visits with the baby, but only every now and then?

Determined not to let any moping creep into this day, though, you shook that thought from your mind and started walking towards the checkout.

You made it approximately fifteen feet before Gwilym stopped in his tracks.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to get it,” he said with a laugh, and quickly jogged back around the corner. He returned a minute later with a box nearly the length of his arm span.

“The mat?” you guess with an amused smile, your hands on your hips.

Gwilym nodded; you could barely see his head over the box, but heard his muffled reply.

“The mat.”

“Alright, come on, you, before you buy out the rest of the store,” you chuckled.

“Is that a challenge?” Gwilym teased back.  You carefully made your way up to the cashier, and Gwilym luckily managed to avoid clocking anyone in the head.  He set the box down and the cashier—a man you’d guess was in his early forties—reached over to scan it.

“Is this all today?” He asked kindly, and you got the impression he was used to customers bringing entire carts full of baby paraphernalia up to his register as opposed to just four items.

“Yep, just a quick stop,” Gwilym nodded, then you reached across him, cutting him off as you grabbed a three-pack of binkies off the the rack right by the register. What? You had an urge.

“And these,” you said.

“And those,” Gwilym repeated, staring at you with an amused raise of his eyebrows. “ _Now_ who’s buying out the store?”

You playfully shoved him as he pulled out his wallet and paid. As you left the store with your bags—Gwilym insisted on carrying the mat even though the cashier had offered him a cart to roll it out to the car—you had a sneaking suspicion this wouldn’t be your last visit to the store. Next time you came back, you’d have to bring a checklist.

“Did you get Ben’s text?” you said as you put on your seatbelt. You looked at your phone and laughed at the message Ben had sent in a group text to both of you. “He says, ‘hey assholes, we’re waiting,’” you read off in your best impression of his voice.

“Tell him I’m sure Joe can keep him busy until we get there,” Gwilym retorted, and you snorted as you typed out the response.

Five minutes later, you pulled into the visitors lot at Ben’s apartment complex. Joe and Rami’s cars were already there, and you quickly stuffed the onesies into your bag so they’d be hidden until the proper moment.  

You kept playing out how you hoped they’d react in your mind, all joy and excitement, but now that you were there, you had to admit you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. You knew Gwilym had opened up to them during filming about hoping to start a family—it wasn’t exactly a secret that that’s what he wanted—but you weren’t sure how far he’d gone into detail. Did they even know what he’d asked you?  Would they think it was a good idea, or would they look at you completely differently now? You hoped it wouldn’t be the latter; you were all adults after all, and surely they’d understand why you’d decided to carry once they got over their initial surprise. Right?

“Ready?” Gwilym asked you, his finger hovering over the buzzer next to Ben’s flat number. You nodded, Gwilym pushed the button, and there was no going back now.

You knew Gwilym had seen the guys less than a week earlier for happy hour, but from the way they greeted each other, you would think it had been years since the last time they’d been together. Joe practically leapt on Gwilym when you made your entrance at Ben’s apartment, and pretty soon the four men became a mess of hugs and tangled limbs.

“Hey, look, Y/N’s here too!” Ben joked, and he promptly wrapped you in a hug as well.

“Nice of you to notice,” you laughed as you made the rounds. “How are you all?”

“Good, good,” Rami replied; he pulled you in for a one-armed hug and kissed you on the cheek. “How are you?”

“Late,” Ben answered jokingly, and you and Gwilym flipped him off at the same time.

“I’m really well, thanks, Rami,” you answered, and went in for another hug.  As he squeezed you back, you felt a little bit of your trepidation fade away. Rami always had a sort of calming presence, which you were very grateful for right now.

“Well don’t just stand there,” Joe said, beckoning everyone over to the couch. “Ben—I saved you a seat,” he said, patting his leg.

Once you were all situated, you dove into at least half an hour of catching up with each other—you wanted to hear all about the various projects the guys had going on, and you loved seeing how happy Gwilym was to be back with his former costars.

“Anyone want drinks?” Ben offered a while later. “I have stuff for mimosas, can’t be that hard to make, right? I’ll make food after, but might as well start the day right, right?”

“Ben’s decided he’s a brunch mom now,” Joe told you out of the corner of his mouth, but loudly enough for Ben to hear. Ben rolled his eyes and gave Joe a pointed look over his shoulder as he walked to the kitchen. “But yes, I’ll take one,” Joe finished.

“I’ll help,” Gwilym said as he got to his feet. He gave you a look and you nodded, knowing what he was trying to convey. Get a bit of drink in them, then pull out the onesies. “Who’s drinking?” Gwil asked.

All the boys raised their hands and you silently thanked Gwilym for just doing a quick count and not drawing attention to the fact you weren’t holding your hand in the air like everyone else. He walked to the kitchen to help Ben and you sat back against the couch cushions, your heart beating fast.

“So, Y/N,” Joe said suddenly, drawing you into conversation. “What else is new? Anything big and exciting in your life we should know about?”

_Oh, you’ll know in a minute, pal,_ you thought. You smiled and shook your head.

“Work’s still pretty busy, but I got a raise, and we just had our annual trip—finally got a spot on it!” you said proudly, and Rami and Joe both congratulated you. “My mum’s not too happy that I’m working so much, though, I visited her for the first time in months a couple weeks ago and she made sure to let the whole family know I’m a workaholic,” you laughed.

“Hey, you’re good at your job,” Joe reasoned. “She shouldn’t complain about that!”

“Yeah, there are worse things to be addicted to,” Rami pointed out, and you nodded.

“Hear, hear,” you agreed, and just then Gwilym came back carrying four mimosas precariously in both hands. You caught his eye, asking silently if he was ready, and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod once Ben had sat down as well.

“None for you, Y/N?” Joe asked when he saw you hadn’t gotten a glass.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“It is ten in the morning, you know,” you said, playing off his question.

“Yeah, and I  _need_ a drink to cope with the fact that you two dragged us all out of bed for brunch on such short notice,” Rami rebutted.

Joe sat up straight and furrowed his brow questioningly.

“Yeah, why did you want to do meet up? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Do we need a reason besides just wanting to spend time with our friends?” Gwilym asked amusedly.

There was a brief pause; no one had a direct answer to that, and Joe, Rami, and Ben sipped their drinks.

“Actually, there is something,” Gwilym said, “but you all have to close your eyes.”

The other guys exchanged interested looks and, after a moment’s hesitation, they did as they were told; as quietly as possible, you opened your bag and pulled out the three onesies. You yanked the tags off and looked at Gwilym one last time.

“I hear rustling,” Joe said excitedly.

“Okay, hands out,” said Gwilym.

“I swear, if you put a tarantula or something on me,” Ben warned, “I’ll kill you myself.”

“So dramatic,” Joe replied, his eyes still scrunched shut. Ben blindly reached up to try and swat Joe in the back of the head, but missed and hit Rami instead.

“Watch it!” he laughed.

“Whenever you’re done acting like children,” Gwilym chided, and the others fell silent once more. At the same time, you put one of the onesies in Rami’s hands while Gwilym handed the others to Joe and Ben.

“Okay, you can open,” Gwilym said, and you could hear the slight shake in his voice as his friends opened their eyes and saw what they were holding.

You waited with bated breath as they all held up their ‘gifts,’ turning them over and reading what was on the front.  You had expected Rami would be the first to put two and two together, but it was actually Joe whose eyes widened first, and he dropped his onesie into his lap and pointed at Gwilym.

“WHAT?! You did it?” He yelped, and Gwilym nodded.

“Did what?” Rami asked.

“I wanted to have a baby,” Gwilym explained, “but I couldn’t do it alone, so—”

It clicked for Ben and Rami at the same time and their jaws dropped.

“A surrogate?” Rami guessed.

“Holy shit,” Ben said. “Really?”

“When did you—?” Joe began, his eyes darting from Gwilym to the white lettering on the onesie, and back.

“ _What_.” Ben said, still floored, his onesie held loosely in one hand.

“Are you serious?” asked Rami.

“What?” they all asked over and over again, making it impossible to get a word of clarification in. Gwilym simply nodded, unable to contain his smile.  He opened his mouth to interrupt, but before he could say anything, Ben pointed at you.

“Wait, Y/N, where’s yours?” Ben said suddenly, noticing that you didn’t have a purple onesie like the rest of them.

_Here we go_ , you thought. You shifted in your seat, twisting your hands in your lap.

“I already knew,” you said slowly, looking at Gwilym, who nodded encouragingly.  “Because I’m, uh…I’m pregnant,” you said, and the word hung in the air between all five of you.

Once again, Joe realized what that meant first, and he looked at Gwilym like he didn’t actually believe what he was hearing.  You got the feeling he really  _couldn’t_ believe it.

“Oh my God,” Joe said, while Rami and Ben listened with matching flabbergasted expressions.

“You’re having a baby?” Rami asked slowly, and he didn’t sound judgmental, just confused, as he looked between you and Gwilym. “ _His_ baby?

“Um, yep. Yeah,” you said; your voice sounded much higher than usual. Rami had a huge smile on his face _. Good, at least one out of three was happy so far,_ you thought.

“Wait, you guys fucked?” Ben blurted out, and while it wasn’t the most well-phrased question, you weren’t all that surprised; after all, that’s where anyone’s mind would go first, and you couldn’t fault him for thinking of the most logical explanation first.

“No!” You and Gwilym laughed in unison, but while you had the benefit of knowing all about the IUI, the guys continued to look at you and Gwilym, absolutely baffled.

“Then how are you pregnant?”

“Wait, fuck,” Joe said quietly, realization hitting him. It had been months since Gwilym told Joe he’d asked you to carry; so much time passed that he just assumed you’d said no and life had gone on. He now looked at Gwilym with a happily incredulous look and said, “I don’t believe it.”

“You  _knew?”_ Ben asked.

“No! I mean, I knew you had asked her, Gwil, but,” he turned to you, “I didn’t know you said yes!  _Why_ did you say yes?”

“Will someone please explain what the fuck is going on,” Rami asked, but, in a motion that made a wave of relief break over you, he got to his feet to give you a hug nevertheless.

Once Rami let go of you, you made the rounds, and you all passed hugs around as the guys gave you their excited—albeit confused, and in Joe’s case, somewhat wary—congratulations. You sat back down after everyone had been thoroughly hugged and took a deep breath so you could explain without your voice shaking.

“I know you’re all confused, so let me explain.  I’m sure you know as well as I do that our dear friend here,” you patted Gwilym’s thigh, “is perpetually single and alone,” you teased.

“Thanks, Y/N,” Gwilym cut in, but he was grinning.

“And if he talks to you half as much as he talks to me, I’m sure he’s told you how badly he wants to be a dad.”

There was a murmur or assent among Joe, Ben, and Rami as they all remembered fondly how many times kids and family seemed to come into conversation.  Hell, when one of the producers had brought his daughter to the Bohemian Rhapsody set because his sitter had cancelled, they started filming ten minutes late because Gwil just had to hold her.  Gwilym didn’t really even need to tell people he was the dad type; he just seemed to give off that impression and it was quite charming.

“So, Gwilym asked me a while back if I would carry for him,” you explained. “Which was the biggest what-the-fuck moment of my life, I have to say,” you laughed, and Gwilym nodded. “But I eventually decided I’d do it, and…yeah, here we are.”

You shrugged and looked over at the guys; Joe was sipping his mimosa with a look that clearly said  _“I’m happy for you, but what the actual fuck,”_ and Rami was smiling down at the onesie; it was a smile that really reached his eyes, and you couldn’t help but mimic his expression, that’s how contagious it was.

“Sorry, am I missing something? Since when are you guys together?” Ben asked.

You shook your head. You glanced over at Gwilym, who was blushing just slightly.

“We’re not,” you said simply. “We did it all artificially—well, it’s a very real baby, but again, we didn’t fuck,” you laughed. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“We thought it was about time you knew,” Gwilym said with a grin. “Since you’ll all be unofficial uncles in a few months.”

“How far along are you?” Rami asked, suddenly curious.

“Almost 14 weeks,” you said happily, then added with a bit less enthusiasm, “And still puking, but that should stop soon.”

“No way, you’re hardly showing!” Joe remarked.

“I think that’s pretty normal, actually, especially if it’s your first baby,” Ben said, and you all looked at him in surprise. “What?” he said with a shrug. “I know things.”

“Congratulations, guys, really,” Rami said, holding up his glass in cheers. You held up an imaginary one and everyone laughed.  “Now how about that brunch?”

Ben hopped up and made his way to the kitchen to get started.

“How’s everyone like their eggs?” he called back, and the opportunity was too good to miss.

“Fertilized,” you answered, and Gwilym promptly choked on his mimosa.

You ended up staying at Ben’s much longer than you planned; the guys wanted to know all about the baby-to-be and the IUI process, and before you knew it, it was past noon. Filled up on bacon, eggs, and scones, you finally got up from the table. Miraculously, none of the smells or flavors had made you nauseous, and you were hoping that meant the next few weeks would end your morning ritual with the toilet.

“You’ll keep us updated, right?” Ben asked as you helped bring dishes over to the sink.

“Of course,” you said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Can I tell Lucy?” asked Rami, “I wish she could have made it today.”

“Oh my god, please do,” you nodded, then Gwilym cleared his throat.

“That reminds me, though, I don’t want the whole world knowing yet. This is between all of us for now, alright lads?”

The guys nodded and swore they’d keep it hush-hush.

You all pitched in to clean up and you ended up on sink duty; Joe washed the plates and then passed them to you for drying, while the rest of the guys straightened out the living room.

“You’re quiet,” you said to Joe after a minute. “Too many mimosas?”

He chuckled and shook his head, then scratched his nose on his shoulder since his hands were sudsy.

“No,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

“Nothing,” he said unconvincingly.

“Liar.”

You washed and dried in silence for a bit; you knew Joe would talk if you waited long enough. Sure enough, after a minute, he sighed.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said quickly, and there was a softness in his voice that told you his words came from a place of good intention, but you were still caught off-guard. “A baby’s a big deal, it could really test your friendship.”

“I’m well aware,” you said a bit coldly. Joe looked at you out of the corner of his eye for a second before continuing to scrub one of the pans.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy. He’s wanted this for a long time,” he said, nodding towards Gwilym, “And I know you know that because he’s your best friend, but—he’s your  _best friend_ , Y/N. You mean so much to him, and—”

“And that’s exactly why I’m doing this for him,” you defended yourself.  “What are you trying to say, Joe?”

He gave you a knowing look.

“You’re the one saying it. ‘Gwil wants a child,’ ‘I’m doing this for him,’ ‘his baby,’” he quoted you, making sure to keep his voice low. “What about you?”

You furrowed your brow, torn between getting angry or recognizing his words for what they were—a genuine concern that, as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you’d already felt yourself.

“I know what I agreed to when I told him I’d do this,” you said, but you were saying it more to yourself than to Joe.  “I’ll be fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

##  **October 5 – About 21 Weeks**

Gwilym was convinced there was absolutely no weather in the world that could beat an October day; he loved the way the sunlight bounced off the leaves as they aged from summer to autumn, and how the air was just crisp enough to carry a hint of impending colder weather without being too chilly.

As Gwilym opened his bedroom window to let in some fresh air, he noticed it even smelled different. The morning breeze was cleaner than usual and carried with it an inviting autumnal aroma. Even better than just waking up to the first perfect fall day, though, was waking up to it on a Friday. Fridays were the best day of the week, which seemed to be the general consensus, but Gwilym had a far better reason for loving Fridays than just the weekend.

Fridays meant breakfast with Y/N, and he couldn’t wait. This Friday in particular meant breakfast and then an ultrasound appointment.  He hadn’t missed a single one; in fact, he lived for the monthly visits to Dr. Harrison’s office and those little glimpses of his child. Well, if you could call it a child yet. At first, it had looked like nothing more than a bunch of black and white blobs on a grainy screen, but last time, the doctor had been able to point out the beginnings of certain features—a foot here, the spine there, the little curve of the head. It was mesmerizing to watch such a tiny human on the screen—almost as mesmerizing as watching you watch it.

If Gwilym were being honest with himself—and he usually was—he couldn’t get you out of his head. While he  _could_ blame it on the pregnancy and give himself some fabricated peace of mind, he knew that wasn’t the only reason.  You’d always been his best friend and closest confidant, always, but seeing you carrying his child, and seeing the way your belly grew with each passing week…that was truly something special.

But, he had to remind himself, you were only doing this as a favor.  A big favor, but a favor nonetheless. As nice as it was to play mum and dad and go to doctor’s visits together, pick out onesies, and go through baby books marking pages, he knew that it was temporary.  _“I’m just an incubator, basically,”_ you’d said after the last appointment, talking with your mouth full of lobster roll—one of your most frequent and unfortunately most expensive cravings.

Damn it, why was even  _that_ attractive when you did it?

 _Get a grip, she’s your best friend,_ Gwilym told himself as he pulled on his pants and ran a wet comb through his hair. He splashed some cold water on his face and toweled off.  He debated shaving, but one glance at his watch told him he had to leave now if he wanted to be on time, and besides, he knew you liked his beard. You’d told him several times.

Fridays meant breakfast with Y/N, he thought again. Nothing could make him skip a morning jog except the promise of seeing you devouring a pile of home fries and waffles across from his own heaping plate of greasy breakfast food.

Come to think of it, though, Gwilym hadn’t actually seen you for a while; weekly though your breakfasts were supposed to be, he’d had to cancel the past two weeks’ dates at the last minute. Last week, his agent had set up a big appearance Gwilym hadn’t known about until he was told the night before, and the week before that, his niece needed watching.  Gwilym had apologized profusely, and promised to make it up to you.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he smiled when he looked down and saw your name on the screen. He slid the lock to answer.

“Hey, I’m heading out now,” he said, speaking loudly as he put on a shirt had to take his phone away from his ear for a second.

“I just got here,” you said, “Woke up at the ass-crack of dawn, no sickness though! My body’s just conditioned for early mornings now, I guess. Can’t complain, at least now I get to bed at a normal hour. Anyway. Good morning. You know that Taco Bell you live near?”

“Yeah,” Gwilym said as he grabbed his keys and wallet; he was grinning at how cute your morning babble was. He held his phone between his shoulder and cheek as he left his apartment and turned to lock the door behind himself. “Why?”

“I really want one of their Dorito shells,” you said sheepishly; your cravings had been relentless lately, and as you waited for Gwilym at your favorite diner, McGillicuddy’s, you were convinced that nothing could go better with a stack of pancakes than Taco-fucking-Bell. “Can you stop and grab me one?”

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“So?”

“So you want a Dorito shell taco for breakfast?” Gwilym chuckled into the receiver.

“Not the taco, just the shell,” you clarified. It was very important he understood this. You didn’t just want it. You needed it.

“Why not just get a bag of Doritos, then?”

“Gwil.”

“Y/N,” he replied, mimicking your serious voice. You could practically hear his grin through the phone.

“I want the  _shell_. Please?”

“I’m on it,” he laughed as he started the car. “You’re weird.”

“Not my fault, the Nugget demands it,” you said, smiling with one hand on your stomach as you checked out the diner menu and tried to decide what to eat. “I’ll see you in five?”

“Well, ten, now,” Gwilym said, “Some needy bitch wants me to make a stop first,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“Thank you,” you laughed.

“It’s no problem, Y/N,” said Gwilym, and he meant it. “I’ll see you soon.”

Ten minutes later, the bell on the diner door chimed and in walked Gwilym, wearing your favorite fall jacket of his—forest green looked so good on him—and carrying a trademark Taco Bell bag. He found you sitting at one of the booths along the window and you stood to greet him.

“I come bearing gifts,” he said proudly, holding out the bag, “I got a few, hope you’re hungry!”

You peeked inside and your jaw dropped; he’d not only gotten the shell you wanted, but had bought a whole stack of them,  _and_ queso.

“You’re a saint,” you gushed, holding your arms open for a hug. Gwilym beamed and wrapped his arms around you.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, almost immediately letting go and pulling away to look down; you were wearing a large sweater that more or less hid your bump, but he’d felt it when you hugged him and was now looking at your midriff in awe. “You grew a lot!”

“Tell me about it,” you nodded with a smile. You held your sweater so it was tighter around your belly, allowing Gwilym to really see it. “It’s getting bigger every day, I swear,” you said, and with a move that surprised you and made heat rush to your face, Gwilym knelt down in the middle of McGillicuddy’s and gave your bump a quick kiss.

“You’re amazing,” he said as he slid into the booth across from you.

“So are you,” you replied, pulling out one of the taco shells and breaking a piece off.  You nearly moaned when you tasted it. “Yup, that hits the spot,” you said contentedly. “Are you excited for later?”

Gwilym didn’t have to ask what you meant; from breakfast, you were headed right over to Dr. Harrison’s for the ultrasound, and just the thought made Gwilym giddy with excitement. He nodded enthusiastically.

“21 weeks, can you believe it?” he asked with a shake of his head, “that’s more than halfway through.”

Your breath caught; you hadn’t thought about it like that. It was so easy to think of pregnancy in terms of weeks and lose track of how far along you actually were, but Gwilym was right. Last week made 20 weeks, meaning you had hit the five-month mark.

“It’s going by so fast,” you said, and Gwilym nodded.

“I know. There’s still so many things to get, things to do—I haven’t even started clearing out my office yet,” he said with a heavy sigh, running one hand through his hair.  Of all the things he had on his baby checklist, that was at the top. He just hadn’t found the time.

“The office?” You asked.

“Yeah, I was thinking I could turn that into the nursery. I hardly use it except for storage, and it’s big enough for a crib and changing table, maybe even a rocking chair—the works! It’ll be perfect,” he said. He could see it now—it’d have to be repainted well before the baby was born, of course, and he wanted to put a new window in, but it was a great space.  

Gwilym held his tongue, but he wanted to ask if you’d come help him paint it.   _Was that too much? Would you think he was trying to get you to stick around for after the baby was born?_ Best not to ask, he decided.  He didn’t want to frighten you or make things weird, and the paint fumes would probably be bad for the baby anyway.

“It sounds perfect,” you said, forcing a smile. You could envision it too—a mobile over the changing table, a shelf for picture books and stuffed animals. Nice curtains, in an accent color.  It was all so nice to think about, until you remembered that Gwilym would be the one cradling the baby and reading bedtime stories, or singing lullabies. That was his future, not yours.

“Are you alright?” Gwilym asked a minute later, noticing that you’d fallen silent.

“Yeah, fine,” you said cheerfully, but too quickly, “Let’s order.”

Gwilym couldn’t help but feel a bit confused as he watched you peruse the menu.  He thought you would love to talk about the nursery, and about baby prep in general, but your reaction seemed to suggest otherwise. He had to admit, it hurt a little bit. Even way back when you’d gone to Plan Baby for the onesies, you seemed so keen on getting in and out as quick as possible. Granted, you had been in a rush that day, but still. Gwilym wanted nothing more than for you to be as excited about the baby as he was.  He knew you were happy, but sometimes it seemed like the whole thing was a burden on you, and he hoped that wasn’t actually how you felt.

“Have you seen any of the guys lately? I got lunch with Mum and Dad yesterday, they say hello,” Gwilym said after your food had arrived, and you grinned, knowing that ‘Mum and Dad’ meant Lucy and Rami. You nodded, but your mouth was full of Dorito shell dipped in cheesy scrambled eggs— _heavenly_ —and you took a minute to chew.

“I say hi back! I saw Ben in the park the other day, he was walking Frankie. I think the baby bump scared him a little, but, same, you know?” you joked, and Gwilym raised his eyebrows.

“It scares you?”

“I’d be lying if I said no,” you said honestly. “I don’t mean like I’m literally afraid of it, but it’s all new to me, so, yeah, it’s a little scary.  Cool, though. I am growing life and all.”

“That you are,” said Gwilym with a grin. “How are the symptoms?”

“Not too bad right now, actually,” you said thoughtfully.

“Really? Because it seems to me you’re creating an entirely new cuisine line,” he smirked, pointing his fork at the crumbled shell you’d sprinkled over your eggs. “Very innovative.”

“Piss off,” you laughed, tossing one of your home fries across the table.  It landed in Gwilym’s coffee and he gave you a look of feigned anger.

“I’m considering myself very lucky that this is the worst I’ve got to deal with right now,” you said. “I’m going to enjoy the easy days whenever I get them, because God knows I did my time with the toilet.  And—” you paused for dramatic effect and said in an eerie voice worthy of Game of Thrones, “—the third trimester is coming.”

Gwilym nodded; he couldn’t argue with that.

“Well, I hope Ben wasn’t too put off,” he said. “I was thinking we should all get together again soon, maybe for a Halloween party?”

“Ooh, yes. I won’t even have to dress up. By then I’ll be near six months and definitely the scariest thing in the room,” you said.

Gwilym shook his head and frowned.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he said.  “You look great; you’ve definitely got the pregnancy glow.”

“That’s just my oily face,” you retorted, but Gwilym didn’t laugh.

“I’m serious. You look incredible, and even if you were 1200 pounds and carrying quintuplets, I’d still think so.”

“Jesus, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you said, knocking on the wood of the table. “But thanks, Gwil. I do appreciate it, I just—well, you know me. I joke a lot.”

“I’d worry if you didn’t,” he said with a smile.  “Should we get going?”

You nodded; the appointment wasn’t for half an hour, but Dr. Harrison liked his patients to come early so they could fill out any paperwork while waiting. Gwilym got up and tossed a few bills on the table to cover the meals, then held a hand out to help you up, but you managed to scoot out of the booth on your own.

“Yeah, let’s get a move on!” you said.

“Welcome back,” Dr. Harrison greeted you both jovially as he entered the room. You were already seated on the table, and you waved as Gwilym stood up to shake the doctor’s hand.  “Just a routine ultrasound today, Y/N, I’m sure you know the drill.”

“On it, Doc,” you said with a smile; over the months you’d been coming in for your check-ups, you’d gotten a lot more comfortable with the staff at the office, and now you actually looked forward to your visits whereas at first they’d been nerve-wracking.

You leaned back against the table, which Dr. Harrison had tilted up slightly so you could see the screen that was next to him.  You rolled the oh-so-glamorous paper shirt you’d had to change into so that it was just below your breasts, wincing a little as you bumped one of them—they’d been getting rather sore lately.  You smiled as you looked down at your uncovered bump and Gwilym’s eyes lit up—the last time you’d had an appointment, it had been little more than a bit of extra roundness, but now it was unmistakable.  

“Your baby is about the size of a papaya now,” Dr. Harrison said, reading the look on Gwilym’s face. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, she is,” Gwilym breathed, looking at you. He realized what he’d said a moment later and his face flushed; you looked at him in surprise. “I mean, it is, yeah,” he amended.

Dr. Harrison chuckled as he got the gel and probe ready.

“Y/N, this—”

“Will be a little cold,” you, Gwilym, and the doctor all said at the same time, then laughed.

“Look at you two, old pros. Are you ready?” he asked, and you nodded. Even though you knew what to expect, you still shivered when Dr. Harrison started spreading the gel around with the probe. You all watched the screen expectantly until you could see the baby, and when you did finally make out the shape you’d grown so accustomed to seeing, you couldn’t help but gasp.

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed—last month, you’d only been able to see a few features, but now the baby looked, well, like a real baby!

“That’s incredible,” Gwilym said with an awestruck smile.  Gwilym squeezed your hand, already feeling happy tears in his eyes.  _You’re such a sap_ , he thought to himself, but it was no surprise, really—he got emotional even just looking at the prints of the last ultrasound on the fridge every morning.

“As you’ll notice, we can see much more now,” Dr. Harrison explained. He traced the baby’s profile on the screen with his index finger. “There’s the head, there, you see the eyes, and the nose?”

“Yeah,” you choked out, getting emotional yourself, for several reasons. “That’s your baby, baby,” you said to Gwil as you squeezed his hand back. He sniffed and caught a tear with his thumb before it could fully fall.

“Does everything look right?” Gwilym asked Dr. Harrison.

“Your baby is perfectly healthy,” Dr. Harrison assured him. “This is a normal size and for this stage of development, and the positioning is right as well. Y/N, you’ll start to feel movement in the next couple of weeks if you haven’t already, and—ah, yes! There’s the heartbeat, stronger than ever, I might add!”

Dr. Harrison stopped talking and let Gwilym listen to your stomach, then you. You looked at him with wide eyes when you heard the unmistakable, light thumping of a little heart inside you.  _You might start to feel movement in the next couple of weeks,_ he’d said. That was a bit terrifying, to be honest, and it was the one thing you were most apprehensive of, besides the birth itself. You’d tricked yourself into thinking you felt a couple kicks already, but it had turned out you were just hungry.

“Can I go again?” Gwilym asked once you were done listening.  He put the stethoscope back on and smiled widely. “I could listen to that forever,” he laughed, and you squeezed his shoulder.  He held his hands over the buds of the stethoscope so he could hear even better, and the look on his face as he both looked at the fetus on the screen and listened to it was so pure and loving you wished you could snap a photo of him to immortalize it.

In fact, he was so entranced listening to the baby’s heartbeat that he didn’t even hear what Dr. Harrison said next. The doctor was squinting at something on the screen, and moved the probe around your belly a little more before nodding to himself and smiling.

“I can tell you the baby’s sex, if you’d like,” he said simply, and your heart gave such an intense leap that it almost hurt.  Gwilym hadn’t even heard, so you tapped him vigorously on the shoulder.

“What, what?” he jumped, sounding panicked as he pulled the stethoscope off. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you said, then turned to the doctor. “Tell him what you—what you just—”

Dr. Harrison smiled pleasantly and looked at Gwilym.

“Would you like to know the sex of your baby?”

You thought Gwilym might just pass out on the floor right then and there, but after he’d processed the question, he turned to you. Come to think of it, he hadn’t really considered whether he’d want to know ahead of time if you’d be having a boy or a girl. Did it matter, really? He was already planning on painting the nursery a pale, gender-neutral gray or yellow.  Now that the option was in front of him, though, he could feel some little creature of curiosity inside him raise its head, its ears perked up in interest.

“I’m—I don’t know, do you think I should?” he asked you, and you shrugged, genuinely not sure what to tell him. It wasn’t really your call, was it?

“Most parents choose to find out around this time, if that helps you,” Dr. Harrison explained. “It tends to make it easier to plan going forward, or think of names, but certainly isn’t mandatory. I’ve had several clients who wanted a complete surprise, and got it!”

“What do you think?” Gwil whispered, looking at you with excitement and hesitation dancing in his blue eyes.

“I think it’s up to you,” you said honestly.  You were dying to know, yourself, but you also knew if you started trying to make the big decisions like this, it would just be that much harder to go back to your day-to-day life once the baby was born.

Gwilym nodded and thought for a moment longer, then sat up straight.

“I think…I want to know,” he said finally, and you felt a rush of relief.  “Not that it’s important,” he added quickly—just so long as the baby was healthy, and besides, it’d decide for itself down the road—“But…yes, can you tell me?”

Dr. Harrison nodded and turned back to the screen. You waited anxiously as he moved the probe until he was satisfied with the way the sonogram looked on the screen. Then, he pointed to and area on the left side of the screen.

“See where I’m pointing? Those are the baby’s toes, and your little one’s a little balled up right now, but you can see from this angle—” he moved his finger a couple inches to the right as he moved the probe down below your belly button, “Right there. Or, should I say, what  _isn’t_ there,” he said with a little chuckle.

You froze; was he saying what you thought he was? Gwilym seemed to be wondering the same thing as he looked from the screen, to the doctor, to you, and back.

“It’s a girl?” Gwilym whispered, hardly daring his voice to carry any more volume than that without breaking.

Dr. Harrison nodded.

“It’s a girl.”

Gwilym held it together for exactly two seconds before he burst into tears, real tears, and buried his face in his hands. He leaned forward, his shoulders shaking, and his forehead came to rest on the side of your stomach. You reached over and rubbed what part of his back you could reach, feeling hot tears slide down your face as well.

When he finally lifted his head, he stood up and, as best he could since you were lying in such a reclined position, he hugged you, crying into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he pulled back, “I didn’t think I’d react like that, I just—a girl, Y/N!” he said thickly, cupping your face in both hands.  

You smiled and nodded; you knew he’d have been happy either way, but there was a brilliantly joyful expression on his face that you had never seen before.  

“You’ve got a bit of goo there, stud,” you chuckled a moment later, and reached up to get a small clump of the gel out of Gwilym’s hair.  He smiled and then wove his fingers through yours.

There was so much he wanted to say, and might have, had Dr. Harrison not been right there. He was so overcome as he looked at you; you never ceased to amaze him, and he hoped you knew that not a single day went by that he wasn’t close to bursting with gratitude and respect for you. God, he had to bite his tongue to keep the words from flowing freely.  _She’s going to look just like you. We’ve got to choose a name. You’re incredible, I lo—_

 

“Look!” Dr. Harrison said suddenly, interrupting Gwilym’s internal monologue. At the same time, you felt the tiniest flutter of movement—you were certain you could only feel it because it came from within you. He pointed at the screen, where you could just make out what looked like a tiny fist. “She’s waving at you!”

The tears started fresh for both you and Gwilym, and he held your hand tightly in both of his and kissed your fingers, then looked over at you. You smiled at him through your own weepiness.

“Wave goodbye,” the doctor told you a minute later, but you didn’t want to. “I’m sorry to rush you,” he continued, “but I do have an 11:30 coming in soon.”

“Do we have to?” Gwilym said with a smile, but he knew the answer. He looked at the sonogram once more as Dr. Harrison printed two copies of it for you each to have. Then, Dr. Harrison cleaned you off and put the images in an envelope for safekeeping and privacy.

“Congratulations,” he said warmly as he handed over the envelope. “I’ll see you again next month. Y/N, make sure you’re still taking your vitamins, and call any time. No concern is too small when you’re expecting,” he said wisely as you sat up.  “I’d recommend you keep track of any kicks or movement you feel, and her ears are much more developed, so now’s around the time she can start to hear you a little better.”

You smiled and raised a playful eyebrow at Gwilym, who looked like he’d just been told Christmas had come early.  

“Shouldn’t have told him that, now he’ll never stop singing,” you laughed.

“Hey, I have a great voice!” Gwilym defended himself, then turned to Dr. Harrison and repeated confidently, “I have a great voice.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Gwil,” you laughed. “Thanks, doctor,” you said as you swung your legs over the side.  _Oof. That was harder to do than it used to be._

 

Gwilym helped you get to your feet and kissed your forehead, then turned away to let you put your sweater back on.

“A girl,” he kept saying, hardly able to believe it. He was already pulling the sonogram out of the envelope to look at the picture again, and you saw there were a couple residual tears in the corner of his eye.  

“Come on, Daddio,” you said as you gave him an affectionate pat on the back. “Let’s celebrate!”

It turned out that celebrating meant stopping at a donut stand on the street and accidentally making the old man who ran it the first person you told about the baby’s sex.

“Do you have any with pink icing?” Gwilym asked excitedly. “We just found out it’s a girl,” he said, and you held your stomach sheepishly.

Unfortunately, there were no such donuts—regular glaze would have to do—but you each bought one anyway and munched happily as you strolled around. Gwilym was too lost in the good news and the beautiful day to worry about anything else, and it wasn’t until his work phone rang that he even remembered there were other people in the world besides the two of you.

“Huh, it’s my agent,” Gwilym said with a confused frown as he picked up. “Dan? Hi—actually I  _am_  busy, why?”

You chewed on your donut awkwardly and sat on a bench along the sidewalk. Gwilym sat beside you and mouthed  _“I’m sorry.”_

“What audition?” he asked, and your stomach flip-flopped; had he missed something important because of the appointment?  “Oh, that? No, we agreed I wasn’t going for that role.”

You could faintly hear Dan’s voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Judging from Gwilym’s side of the conversation, though, they seemed to be arguing over whether or not Gwilym was needed for an initial screen.  Gwilym seemed unenthused, but Dan sounded like he wanted him to go for it after all.

“What time’s it at? Noon? Uh,” he said, looking around like that would help him think of what to say next. He was considering it—it never hurt to try for a role, and he could always decline it later if he got it—but then his gaze fell on you, and that precious bump. He looked up at the sky for a moment, then shook his head. He had more important things in his life today.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. Why—because the role’s not even a season regular, and you said weeks ago I shouldn’t bother going in!  Well, I’m sure there are other people interested. Of course I care about my job, Dan, I just—Okay. Fine. Send them my CV so at least— _Alright_ , I—” you could tell Dan was cutting Gwilym off every other word and you gave him a sympathetic look.  Dan was amazing at his job, but when he got like this, it could be pretty brutal. You’d only met him a handful of times, and it was always hit or miss.

“Yeah, I’m sorry this fucked up your day,” Gwilym said in monotone, pinching the bridge of his nose and holding the phone a few inches away from his face to spare his eardrums, “but auditioning would kind of fuck up mine. Because I’m busy!”

“Is this about the kid?” came Dan’s sharp voice.

 _That_ you heard plain as day.

“If you mean my child and my best friend, then yes,” said Gwilym, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “They’re rather important to me, you know.” He paused, listening with his eyes closed for a moment. “Yes. Yeah, I’m interested in that one. Got it, I’ll put it in my calendar. Ohhhhkay. Yep. Okay, bye now.”

“Yikes,” you said once he’d hung up.

“He means well,” Gwilym sighed. “I don’t know why he’s so surprised, though; I told him when we found out you were pregnant that I’d need to play some things by ear.”

“You could go, you know,” you told him with a shrug. “I’m fine, really. I have some work stuff I could get done—”

“Nope,” said Gwilym, popping the  _P_. “You’re my priority today.”

 _Aw_ , you thought.  _You cutie._

“Oh! I saw Joe too,” you said in a snap of sudden recollection, jumping way back to your conversation at the diner. “I forgot. I saw him at the supermarket.”

“And how’s he?” Gwilym asked.

You weren’t sure exactly how to answer. Joe had been perfectly friendly when you ran into him, but you didn’t miss the way he glanced at your stomach when you were waiting at the checkout.  It wasn’t a judgmental glance at all, but you knew you were both thinking about what he’d said when you first announced you were having Gwilym’s baby.  You could tell he didn’t think it was a good idea, and while he made small talk and asked how everything was going, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he thought you were making a mistake.

“He’s fine,” you answered nonchalantly, then decided to just be honest. “I think he wishes you got an actual surrogate, though.”

“Oh, definitely.”

_Oh, thank God, Gwilym knew._

“Joe’s the best,” Gwilym said, taking a contemplative bite of his second donut, “He’s always been the best, don’t get me wrong. And he’s so supportive of me wanting a child, and raising it—well, raising  _her_ myself,” Gwilym said, his face lighting up, “but he was definitely shocked, even when I told him I had just  _asked_ you to carry.”

“He thinks we’re idiots, doesn’t he?”

“No,” Gwilym said. “That’s not really fair to say. He’s just looking out for us and he doesn’t want us to get in over our heads. Which makes sense, but we’re fine!  It’s like I said from the start, you’re just carrying. Some best friends help each other move, some help each other have kids, that’s all.”

Was he trying to convince you, or himself? He knew Joe’s concerns were valid; hell, Gwilym already felt more for you than he did at the beginning of all this, but he couldn’t act on it, he knew that. That’s the last thing you probably wanted, he thought.  Little did he know that hearing his words made you feel like someone had taken an icicle and shoved it through you, chilling you to the bone.

“Right. That’s all,” you replied.  _He doesn’t want any more than that,_ you told yourself.

Gwilym nodded, but he could feel his heart deflate a little bit.   _She’s just carrying,_ he reminded himself. _It’s just a simple favor._

Suddenly the donuts didn’t look as appealing anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

##  **October 31 - Halloween - 26 Weeks**

“This is the best decision you have ever made, and that includes the decision to have my actual child, which made this costume possible in the first place,” Gwilym said, and you had to physically hold him still because he couldn’t stop laughing. He twisted to look down at himself as you popped open a safety pin and steadied him with one hand.

Halloween had always been one of your favorite holidays, if for no other reason than just to see all your friends in their craziest costumes.  This year would be especially entertaining; Rami and Lucy were hosting a party, and had made it very clear on the invitation that any guests who didn’t dress up would be turned away at the door.

You had been dropping hints to Lucy all week that they should have an impromptu costume contest, because you were certain you and Gwilym would win.  You’d spent the last forty minutes pinning and taping long strands of yellow yarn all over him – he would be attending the party dressed as a heaping pile of spaghetti, and you had bought a giant red shirt with the “Prego” sauce label emblazoned on the front that would stretch right over your bump.  However, you’d never make it to the party if Gwilym didn’t stop fidgeting long enough for you to pin his meatballs on.

“Hold still, Emeril, or I’m going to stick you in the ass!” you laughed, and Gwilym—after some effort—kept still long enough for you to help him with his costume.

“Wrong sauce,” he said, pointing at your shirt, and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I’ll call you Noods instead.”

“Nudes? How scandalous,” he joked.

“Shut up, you goon,” you laughed incredulously at his teasing, “And quit moving!”

Finally, you’d gotten him all set and led him over to the mirror hanging on the back of your bedroom door.

“I love it,” Gwilym said as he surveyed your handiwork. “You’re a genius.”

You nodded happily and went back to the kitchen to find the finishing touch—a colander, which at least for tonight, would become a hat.  You found it in one of the lower cabinets, and as you straightened up, you winced and felt your back ache; you kept forgetting to fix your posture throughout the day so this wouldn’t happen, and now, you felt the full weight of your bump working against you as you stood back up.   _Fucking hell._

As you neared the third trimester, you started to understand why some women did whole pregnancy shebang once and then decided never to do it again.  None of your bras fit anymore, your ankles were nearly the same size as your calves, and every day you saw less and less of your toes when you looked down.  And the back pain,  _fuck_. Luckily, tonight you weren’t dealing with too much discomfort, and you were hoping that trend would continue, at least until after the party.

“Uber’s coming in a few minutes,” you informed Gwilym as he walked over.  Normally, you’d just drive, since you knew you wouldn’t be drinking, but Rami had made it clear he didn’t want cars parked outside and on the street, so ridesharing would have to do.  You had nothing against Uber; you just hoped your driver wasn’t on the talkative side. The bigger you got, the more strangers seemed to think they were entitled to know everything about your pregnancy.  

You didn’t mind answering a few quick questions, especially if they came from other mothers.  You’d even had one couple ask if they could feel your bump, because they’d never been able to have kids themselves, and you just couldn’t say no to that.  However, you’d had to draw the line when an older man wielding a book of coupons and a cane at the grocery store had come up to you and pointed out that you didn’t have a wedding ring, then called you a trollop right in the middle of the canned goods aisle.  God, you hoped his hearing aids were turned up loud enough to hear you tell him where to shove his—

“D’you think Lucy will make those hot dog things again?” Gwilym asked, ending your daydreams.

“She did! I saw it on her story,” you said; she’d posted a photo of several little mummy-shaped pigs in a blanket, all lined up on a platter and ready for the taking.

“Yes,” Gwilym cheered, making a little fist pump motion.

“C’mere,” you said, crooking a finger at him. You grabbed the colander and put it upside down on Gwilym’s head like a hat, making it look like someone had just dumped a whole bowl of spaghetti on top of him.  

“There. Now you’re party ready,” you said with a smile.

“I think this is the height of fashion, truly,” he said as he adjusted it a little. “Are  _you_ ready?”

“I was born ready,” you answered. “Or should I say, a-born a-ready!” you said in a terrible Italian accent, pinching your fingers together and kissing them like a chef.

“Good lord,” Gwilym laughed, visibly cringing, “Don’t quit your day job.”

“Mean.”

“Honest.”

“Same thing.”

“Barely.”

“…Loser.”

“Oh, good one,” Gwilym teased, miming a dagger to the heart, “I’m shattered.”  You stuck your tongue out at him and he ruffled your hair, then rested his hand on your belly. He’d developed a habit of doing that whenever you were together, and your heart had developed a not-so-coincidental habit of fluttering each and every time he flattened his palm on the small mountain you called your stomach.  “Do you really feel okay, though?” he asked softly. He’d noticed as you were getting ready that you seemed to be grimacing a lot.

“Honestly?” you asked, and he nodded.  “Not one hundred percent. Maybe 72 percent, but I’m good.”

“We can stay home,” Gwilym offered.

“Hell no! Not after all the hard work I’ve put into this,” you said, tugging at some of the yarn. “We’re going. I’ll tap out if I need to, I promise.”

“How about this—if it’s still going strong by 11, we’ll both tap out.”

“Deal,” you said, and you felt a rush of gratitude—now you were spared from playing the party pooper role.

Just then, you got a call from an unknown number—it was your Uber driver, and that solidified the decision. You waddled out the door and down the stairs to the front of the building.  After dodging a few trick-or-treaters, Gwilym darted out in front of you and opened your door. He waited until you got situated and gave him a thumbs-up, then jogged around to to the other side and got in the back with you.

The driver, a middle aged man whose name on the app just said “Kyle,” eyed you both in the rearview.  He smiled, noticing your costume.

“Clever,” he laughed, “Halloween party, I’m guessing?”

“No, this is actually what I wear daily,” you replied, and luckily Kyle picked up on the sarcasm.

“Is it your first?” he asked, “The baby, I mean.”

“Yeah, it is,” Gwilym answered; he didn’t want to get too into detail, but Uber small talk was often a necessary evil, and he saw no harm in going along with it.  

“Boy or girl?”

“A girl, she’s due in January,” Gwilym answered, and you looked over at him; his whole face had lit up, and you swore you’d never get tired of seeing that kind of happiness in his features.

Kyle made an excited noise as he turned left.  

“So was mine,” he said fondly, “And you know? I thought I wanted a boy, and I do love my son, but when we got that news…I think my wife and I could have filled a reservoir with how much we cried. How long have you been married, if you don’t mind my asking?”

You coughed and Gwilym raised his eyebrows at you in the backseat. That was one of the questions that never got less awkward to answer.  _How far along are you? Is your husband excited? How long have you been married?_ People seemed much less enthused that you were pregnant once you told them there had been no nuptials to speak of. Ugh, as if it was their business in the first place.  _It certainly wasn’t Kyle the Uber driver’s business,_ you thought, and you didn’t want to be the one to answer his question.

“Five years next month,” Gwilym fibbed suddenly, and your heart leapt.  _What?_ You glanced at him, conveying a similar statement, and he just shrugged with a little smile.

“Well, congratulations,” Kyle said warmly. “You’ve got no idea what you’re in for!”

You weren’t sure how that was supposed to make you feel, so you didn’t reply, and the rest of the ride passed in silence that was just uncomfortable enough to notice.  Finally, you arrived at Rami’s house and got out.

“Thanks, Happy Halloween,” Gwilym said, giving Kyle an appreciative wave as he drove away.  He readjusted his colander and held out his arm for you to take.

“Five years, huh?” you said as you walked up the short walkway to the door, which was covered in cotton spider webs.  You could already hear loud music and chatter coming from inside, and Gwilym rang the doorbell, then turned to you and shrugged his shoulders.

“Better than explaining the whole thing, right?”

“I guess so,” you said. It  _had_ spared you an awkward conversation.

“What, is it that unbearable to think of being married to me?” Gwilym joked, but now that he’d said it, he was worried maybe it was true. You shook your head.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that,” you said. Truthfully, you’d felt the butterflies again at his words, and maybe you were overthinking things, but his answer—five years next month!—had rolled off his tongue so effortlessly that it almost sounded like one day it could be true.   _One day?!_ You scolded yourself angrily.   _Get it the fuck together, right now!!_

 

“Alright, next time I’ll just say that we artificially inseminated you because I’m a lonely piece of shit who can’t get a girlfriend,” Gwilym laughed, ringing the doorbell again.

“Perfect,” you replied with a smile, and he rolled his eyes playfully.  Just then, the door flew open, and the Ghostbusters theme song hit you smack in the face as it blared from unseen speakers within the house. You were greeted by—wait, actually, who the fuck  _was_ that?

Someone had put together an incredibly convincing Jack Skellington costume, and had even gotten an official mask, making identification nearly impossible.  It wasn’t until Lucy appeared in the doorway in an equally spot-on Sally costume that you put two and two together.  

“Welcomeeeee to the spookiest party in all Halloween Town!” Jack Skellington said in an overly dramatic (and muffled) voice.

“ _Rami?_ ” Gwilym laughed incredulously, and Jack—er, Rami, apparently—nodded and backed up to let you in.

“Come in, come in!” Lucy cheered, wrapping you in a huge hug the second you were clear of the doorway.

“You look amazing, Luce,” you said, taking in her entire look. “How did you do that?!” you asked, looking at how perfect her makeup was.

“Carefully,” she laughed, “and with a little help,” she added, kissing Rami on the cheek after he’d pulled the Jack headpiece off to get a little air.  

“This is fucking genius,” he said, pointing between you and Gwilym. “I love you guys.”

“Thanks,” you replied, striking a pose, “Saw the chance, had to take it!”

“Amazing. Well, come on in, everyone’s…well, everyone’s everywhere, so make yourselves at home!” Rami said with a flourish that was definitely worthy of The Nightmare Before Christmas.  Gwilym followed Rami into the living room, around which they’d put bowls of snacks and candy on nearly every surface.  You and Lucy brought up the rear.

“Drinks are in the kitchen, we’ve got a bartender all set up there; make sure you try the cocktails, they’re all themed,” Rami said loudly over the noise of the party guests. He sounded adorably excited, and you exchanged a smile with Lucy.

“There’s soda and water, too, don’t worry,” she assured you, and rested a hand momentarily on your belly—she was one of very few people you’d given the green light to do that without asking, but she recoiled with a surprised gasp a second later, feeling a bit of movement.

“Oh my gosh!” She said, her eyes wide, “Did it just—?”

“ _She_ just,” you nodded, wincing a little after another hard nudge right near your bladder. “And she’s going to make me pee myself if I’m not careful,” you laughed, and Lucy gave you a sympathetic look.

“There’s a bathroom off the kitchen and if you really need to you can go upstairs! If you need anything, just come find me,” she said, taking your arm. As Gwilym and Rami disappeared around a corner, she added, “Seriously, these men don’t know shit about what it’s like to be pregnant—okay, they know some, I’ve heard Gwil’s very knowledgeable, I’ll give him that—but if you need  _anything_ , a place to sit, a bathroom buddy, a ride home, you tell me.”

“And what do you know about being pregnant, hmm?” you teased. “Something you’d like to share?”

“Ha, not any time soon!” Lucy laughed, “Although I will have to do some baby shopping—I need to get you some goodies!” she added excitedly.

You knew there was no use telling her not to—Lucy did as Lucy pleased, and you loved that about her. Besides, you were never going to say no to a few free onesies!  You’d learned quickly that baby gear was expensive, and although Gwil had been footing all the medical bills, you’d insisted on paying for at least one of your carts when you went back to Plan Baby a second time. Between clothes, nursery décor, bibs, bottles, diapers, and the childproof locks Gwilym wanted to put in his apartment, “just one cart” had set you back nearly a whole pay check.

“Y/N!” you heard someone shout off to your right. You turned to see Ben carefully dodging furniture and costumed guests as he spotted you from across the room and came over.  He was grinning, a bit tipsy, and tripping over the blue flippers he was wearing.  _Ah. Barnacle Boy, a classic._ “Hi! And hello to you,” he said once he was within earshot, half-bowing at your bump. “Gwil told me it’s a girl, congrats!”

“Hey yourself, and yes, it’s a girl,” you laughed, and he gave you a one-armed hug, careful not to spill his drink on either of you. “Nice ‘fit,” you laughed, taking in his full ensemble—a tight red shirt, black high-waisted biking pants, goggles and a little sailor hat. Cute. “Let me guess, Joe?” you asked, guessing who made up the other half of the trademark costume.

“Yeah, he’s around somewhere, talking to some girl. I don’t think she’s vibing with the seashell bra, though,” he snickered. “I like this,” he said, giving you a look from head to toe and taking in your costume. “Prego, that’s great,” he laughed.

“Everyone loves a good pun on Halloween, right?” you said.  And all things considered, you weren’t even that big yet. You shuddered to think about the next few months.

“I love it,” Ben said, and held up his drink in cheers, then frowned, noticing you didn’t have a cup. “Where’s yours?”

You shook your head and gestured down at yourself.

“Can’t!”

“Ah, start ‘em young!” Ben cajoled, and you shot him a look. “With Sprite, of course,” he added sheepishly. “Come on, let’s get you something baby-approved.”

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Joe had hit a pause in his attempt to flirt with one of Lucy’s friends. She was gorgeous and looked as if Tiana had stepped right out of the Princess and the Frog—she even had a stuffed frog prince to complete the look—but once their initial conversation had run its course and she left to catch up with Lucy, Joe naturally turned his efforts towards badgering Gwilym instead.

“Let me get this straight…you dressed as noodles?” Joe asked with a smirk as he eyed Gwilym’s costume. He pulled at one of the spaghetti strands and dropped it, hardly managing to suppress his laughter.

“Everyone loves noodles,” Gwilym shrugged, gesturing to the colander on his head. “And for the record, I don’t appreciate your sass,” he joked.

“No, no, I like it!” Joe replied. “Very inventive. And are those…?”

“Meatballs.”

“Ah. Should I even ask?” Joe said with his trademark confused face.

“It makes more sense if Y/N’s around,” Gwilym said.  _As does most of my life,_ he couldn’t help thinking.  He meant it literally, now, though—without your complementary costume, Gwilym was nothing but a walking, talking pile of pasta.  He sighed heavily; the movement caused one of the meatballs to fall to the floor.

Speak of the devil—just at that moment, you and Ben entered the kitchen in search of drinks.

“Your balls dropped, mate,” Ben chuckled as he passed by, stooping to pick up the brown lump of yarn and tossing it in the air, one of many you’d help Gwilym pin on earlier.

“Thanks,” Gwilym laughed as he caught it, and you helped pin it back onto his shoulder, standing on your tip-toes to do it.

“Oh my God,  _Prego_ ,” Joe said as he noticed your costume. Realization spread across his face and he pointed at Gwilym’s noodles. “See, I get it now.”

“Knew you’d get there,” Gwilym said with a smile, and he punched Joe lightly on the arm.

“Don’t mind him; Barnacle Boy was always the smart one,” Ben teased with a wink, then beckoned for you to come with him to the bar. You gave Gwilym a quick squeeze on his arm and smiled before walking away.

“Oh, shut up,” Joe said amusedly as Ben walked away. “Mermaid Man was the brains, always,” he told Gwilym, who nodded sarcastically, smirking over his cocktail.

Rami and Lucy had certainly pulled out all the stops—even their caterers had dressed for the occasion, and there was never a lull in activity. Once the party was really in full swing, they’d had an apple-bobbing contest (won by one of Rami’s Mr. Robot costars who had simply showed up dressed as his character), a pin-the-skull-on-the-skeleton competition, and a partner game where one person had to wrap the other up with toilet paper, mummy-style. You and Gwilym had lost miserably, but to be fair, there was a bit more of you to cover!

An hour or so later, you’d filled up on snacks and Sprite and had met more people than you could even hope to remember—some were actors, others, musicians, and you’d even run into some mutual acquaintances, which made for a nice night of catching up and making conversation.  Still, as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but feel more and more worn out yourself. You knew your body well and you weren’t quite ready to call it a night, but it seemed like the time might be coming.

“Hey, you,” you said, sidling up to the love seat and nudging your way in next to Gwilym. You’d lost track of him for a bit, but finally found him again; he was just taking a breather. “Mummy?” you asked, holding up your plate of food.

“Oh, thanks!” Gwilym said, taking one of the pigs in a blanket and popping it into his mouth. “How are you holding up?” he asked, rubbing circles on your back.

“I’m painfully sober, but overall, I’m having fun,” you replied. “I think she likes the music,” you added with a smile, then took Gwilym’s hand and put it right next to your belly button. His eyes widened as he felt a little bit of movement under his palm—you’d yet to get many really hard kicks, but the Nugget, as you liked to call her, was certainly active.

“You’re incredible. You’re literally growing a human and I’m sat here wearing noodles and eating a tiny hotdog,” he laughed, but he really meant it; he shook his head in wonder.

“Hey, we’ve all got our talents,” you joked, then looked around the room. There were at least a hundred people in attendance, all dressed from head to toe in costumes that ranged from intricate and terrifying to just plain lazy, and there didn’t seem to be a single person who wasn’t having fun.  You spotted Rami at a table in the opposite corner of the living room—he’d ditched the Jack Skellington head for good and was setting up a game of flip cup. “They did a great job,” you commented, gesturing to indicate the whole party.

“Did you see the cocktail list?” Gwilym asked excitedly, “I took a picture so we can make them when you can drink again.”

“You can go ahead and drink, Gwil, don’t let me stop you,” you said, although it was quite considerate of him to limit himself even though he probably wanted nothing more than to try out the “Mad-Eye Molotov.”

“Nah, I’m alright. Alright, I had one, but that was hours ago.  A little too peachy for my taste,” he said, making a face.

Oh no. Oh  _no_. You’d felt a rush of heat in your face the second he mentioned peaches, and even though you were sitting, you felt suddenly woozy.  This—the sudden nausea from just thinking about certain foods, or smelling them—had only happened once before, when you were at a work luncheon and someone had ordered fish sticks. But now, for some reason, just imagining peach  _anything_ was making you feel like you might throw up.

“I—I’ll be back,” you said shakily, and Gwilym gave you a concerned look, but you played it off. “I forgot, I told Lucy I’d play pong with her, water only, of course,” you made up on the spot, and Gwilym bought it. For a nausea lie, it wasn’t bad, truth be told.

“I’ll be here,” he said as you got up and hurried away.

Just mere moments after you’d vacated your spot on the loveseat, Joe and Ben reappeared and plopped down on either side of Gwilym, effectively sandwiching him on the center cushion.

“Lads!” he greeted cheerfully, throwing his arms around both their shoulders.

“Let’s talk,” Joe said, his voice a bit tinged by alcohol; he swiped the colander from Gwilym’s head and put it on his own—it clashed horribly with the Mermaid Man starfish nose. picked up chastising Gwilym’s outfit right where he left off earlier, as if there had been no break in the conversation. Ben nodded; he seemed less inebriated, but no less amused.

Gwilym looked at his friends with a smile, albeit a tired one.  Joe poked Gwilym in the chest with the hand that was still clutching a bottle of beer.

“Yes, dear?” Gwilym asked sweetly. He felt rather squished on the couch with his knees pressed tightly together.

“Les’ talk,” Joe repeated, “What I’m gathering is, this–” he pointed at Gwilym’s costume, “This is a couple costume,” he said with one eyebrow raised.

Gwilym’s eyes widened at the C-word.

“No,” he said quickly. Unconvincingly.  

Joe and Ben exchanged a knowing look.

“It’s totally a couple’s costume,” Joe said with a teasing nod at Ben, who mirrored it.

“You’re one to talk,” Gwilym retorted. “Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy, yeah, that’s very subtle.”

“They were  _just friends_ ,” Joe said emphatically.

“Yeah, and so are me and Y/N,” Gwilym said amusedly.

“You’re just proving our point!” Joe laughed, “If you and Y/N are ‘just friends’”—he made air quotes—“in the way Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy are, then—wait,” he said, realizing he hadn’t thought out his argument very well.

“Yeah, keep working on that one,” Gwilym said with a chuckle.

“Seriously, though, outside of us, and Rami and Lucy, everyone here thinks you two are together,” Ben said, and Gwilym furrowed his brow.  “Probably why neither you nor Y/N can get any action tonight,” he teased.

“I wasn’t trying to,” said Gwilym. “And Y/N can flirt with whoever she likes if she wants to, it makes no difference to me,” he added, but his voice was a little too high pitched and his posture a little too slouched for anyone to believe him. “What are you looking at?”

Ben was squinting at Gwilym, tilting his head from side to side as he glanced over from his side of the sofa.

“Just checking,” he said amusedly. “Yep. Looks like bullshit from every angle.”

“Thanks for your astute observation,” Gwilym deadpanned.

“He’s right,” Joe said. He wasn’t slurring, but he was definitely drunk enough that his voice took on a new timbre, one that suggested he was about to get very honest, very quickly.  “Look, you know how I feel about this whole thing. It’s weird. It’s nice, but it’s weird, because you’re having a baby together, but not really, because you’re not together, even though you’d like you to be and everyone  _thinks_ you are. And I know I sound rude because I’m drunk right now, but I’m not wrong, right?”

“Fuck, guys, leave it be, will you?” Gwilym advised lightheartedly, but they could tell he was serious. Joe made a face, but didn’t try to argue. “Y/N and I are just friends,” Gwilym said again, but he’d been distracted by Lucy, who had come over and stood in front of the three men—she had one hand on her hip and was nervously biting the thumbnail of her other.

“Hey, Y/N’s looking for you,” she said, and for such an excellent actress, she did a rather poor job of masking the urgency in her voice.

“Speaking of my  _friend_ ,” Gwilym emphasized, giving Joe and Ben a look. He got up from the loveseat with a groan and followed Lucy towards the stairs. Joe and Ben watched him go.

“I’m  _not_ wrong, am I?” Joe asked. “About him and Y/N. They’re into each other.”

“No,” Ben sighed, “you’re not wrong.”

“Is everything okay?” Gwilym asked as he followed Lucy. He took the stairs two at a time, wondering what you were doing up on the second level.

“Yeah, she’s just not feeling well, and wanted you. Something about peaches?”

“Oh no, really?” Gwilym said sympathetically, remembering what you’d said earlier about now feeling 100 percent well. Lucy led him down the hall to a bedroom at the end, where you were sitting on the mattress. You smiled weakly when you saw him.

“Hey, bear,” Gwilym said softly as he entered the room, “What’s up?”

Damn it, you had sworn you wouldn’t cry. It was just a little nausea, nothing serious, so you  _swore_ you wouldn’t tear up, but hearing Gwilym’s voice set off some kind of chain reaction inside you and you immediately felt the waterworks coming.

“I’m a party pooper,” you said with a sniffle.

“Not at all,” Gwilym replied, “What’s wrong, what happened?”

“It was just now, you mentioned the cocktail,” you tried to explain.

“The peachy one?” Gwilym asked, and you groaned.

“Don’t say it,” you begged him. “I don’t know why, just thinking about it made me nauseous, and then when I got up I just suddenly felt exhausted, like I couldn’t stand anymore, like I might faint…not to mention the Nugget’s doing the Monster Mash in my womb right now,” you said, feeling yet another kick.  Gwilym and Lucy both laughed at that description, but it didn’t help the soreness in your body go away at all.

“Did you still want me to get you a ride?” Lucy asked hesitantly from the doorway.

“Yeah,” you nodded, then turned to Gwilym, “I think I need to go, I’m really sorry. God, it’s not even 11 yet.”

Gwilym was, in short, crushed. Not because this meant you’d have to leave, but because he knew that if it weren’t for the baby, you’d both be enjoying the party until all hours of the morning. He sat down on mattress next to you, wincing as he accidentally sat on a meatball.

“I’ll go too,” he said. “Soon as we say goodbye.”

“No, stay!” you said quickly, “I’m serious, Gwil, you’ve been talking about this party since forever; don’t leave just because I had to. Really, I’m okay.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he said earnestly.

“It’s not your fault,” you laughed through your sniffles.

“Well I’m not going to have much fun if my sauce isn’t here,” Gwilym said affectionately, and you smiled, rubbing your belly. You thought you heard Lucy whisper something that sounded like “ _so_ freaking cute” as she left the room to check Uber rates and get you some water.

“I’m sorry, again,” you said honestly; you’d hadn’t felt great to begin with, and even without talking about peaches, it had just gotten to the point at the party where you couldn’t stand for more than a couple minutes without feeling dizzy, or hot, or both. Standing and dancing for hours while watching all your friends get steadily and steadily drunker was a blast every other year, but it turned out it just wasn’t your cup of pumpkin juice this Halloween.

You suddenly hissed in pain, massaging the spot just below and to the left of your navel where you’d just gotten a sharp kick.

“She’s started full-on kicking, you’ve got a future midfielder in here.”

“What?! Actual kicks?!” Gwilym yelped, jumping to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just did,” you replied.

“We’re going,” Gwilym said decisively.  “And we’re getting you home, and watching Beetlejuice, and I am not taking my hand off the bump for one second, come on.”

Did he have any idea how fast your heart was beating, hearing him say things like that? His affection was like some kind of drug that elated you whenever you got it, but the comedown—the realization that this kind of sweetness would only last another three months—was torture.

“No, Gwil, enjoy the party!” you urged; you didn’t want him to cut his own fun short on account of you. “Seriously.”

“Party’s lame,” Gwilym said without missing a beat.

“Hey!” Lucy said, faking offense as she walked back into the room.

“Sorry, all love,” he said with a smile, then turned to you. “Come on, up you get.”

With effort, Gwilym helped you to your feet and Lucy handed you a cup; you took a big sip of water, which helped, but didn’t stop the rush of dizziness you felt as you tried to find your balance. You were grateful for Gwilym’s arm around you to keep you steady, although it didn’t do too much to help your breathlessness.  After a moment, you nodded, and the three of you headed back downstairs.  

You hadn’t noticed when you were a part of the Halloween melee, but the house smelled strongly of alcohol, pizza, and people—that didn’t help your upset stomach, and you frowned and subtly covered your mouth with your hand just in case your pigs in a blanket decided to make a surprise reappearance.

“Leaving already?” Ben pouted as you found him and the others to say your goodbyes. You nodded apologetically and gave him a parting hug.

“It’s past my bedtime, and hers,” you said, looking down.  You were stuck in a limbo—you didn’t want to leave, as the party was truly outstanding and the night had just begun, but at the same time, the only things you wanted right now were your couch, your pregnancy pillow, and—

“Gwil!” Rami called out as you nudged your way through the crowded place. He was carrying a small plate. “Heard you’re heading out, here. For the road,” he said. He handed off the plate, laden with hors d'oeuvres and even some cookies that hadn’t been set out yet.

“Thanks, mate,” Gwilym said, and after another few minutes of hugs and goodbyes, you were finally back out in the chilly October air.  You leaned against Gwilym’s bicep, holding his arm, and thankfully the Uber Lucy had called for you—you made a mental note to Venmo her for that—pulled up just a few seconds later.  By a stroke of luck, this driver didn’t say a word, and you were back at your flat in no time.

“I’m so lame,” you groaned as you unlocked your door; you tossed your purse on the counter. “Can’t even hack it at a party, ugh.”

“You’re not lame, you’re pregnant,” Gwilym called after you as you went down the hall to your bedroom so you could change. You emerged in a pair of maternity sweatpants and one of your school hoodies—your parents always made fun of you for buying them three sizes too big, but who was laughing now?

You went over to the couch and made a show of sitting down with a long groan; when you did hit the cushion, it felt like the weight of the world had been taken off your shoulders. You kicked your feet up on the coffee table, grimacing at how swollen your ankles were.

“Can you grab my ice pack?” you called out, but Gwilym was a step ahead of you and was already walking over with the cold compress and a dish towel to wrap it in. You nearly moaned with relief when he put it over your ankles.

“Thanks, spaghetti man,” you said weakly.

“Of course,” he smiled. “Although, speaking of that, any chance you’ve got something I can put on that’s more comfortable and less…stringy and ballsy?”

You laughed and nodded, pointing back towards your room. “I actually think I still have your old Wales football jumper, top drawer,” you admitted sheepishly. You’d borrowed it months ago and then accidentally—actually, totally intentionally—claimed it as your own.

“ _That’s_ where that’s been?!” Gwilym gasped.

“I’m sorry, it’s comfy!” you replied as he went to go find it. “I, uh, might have some of your running shorts too.”

“Unbelievable,” he laughed, “I thought I lost those. Turns out my g—uh, best friend’s just been a dirty thief all along, typical.”  You were dozing on the couch and missed the way he tripped over his words, but he sure hadn’t.

He found the clothes easily and wasted no time taking off his pasta shirt; he left the costume on your bed and although he put the shorts on quickly to spare you from seeing him in his boxers, he was still tugging the jumper over his bare chest as he walked back out into your living room.  Thank goodness the lighting was dim; you were certain your eyes had widened when you caught a glimpse of his abdomen. Jesus, the baby books weren’t kidding about hormones—you’d seen Gwil shirtless countless times, yet there you were, practically salivating over one little flash of a happy trail.

“Scoot,” Gwilym said as he came over to the couch, and you tried to give him as much space as possible. “Now give me your feet.”

“I really don’t think you want me to do that,” you said in warning; you’d been wearing the same shoes and socks all day.

“I definitely don’t,” Gwilym admitted, “but you’re obviously hurting and I promised at the start of all this I’d help however I could, so—” he took a deep breath, “I’ll take one for the team.”

“Your funeral,” you laughed, and swung your feet—ice pack and all—across Gwilym’s lap. You had to admit, just his slight massaging of your ankles helped a lot, and you sighed as he relieved some of the pressure.

You sat in silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s company, and before long you found yourself laying your head on the back of the sofa as you faced Gwilym, a serene sort of smile on your face. You liked this. Well, not the cankles and faintness and other symptoms, but you liked just being with him, without even needing to say anything. You caught his eye for a minute and stuck your tongue out—your thing.

“How do you do that?” Gwilym asked suddenly. He’d stopped massaging your ankles, but still had your legs across his thighs, one arm draped over your calves.

“What?” you said with a yawn.

“Even when you’re exhausted and wearing bum clothes, you still look nice,” he said.

“Right, I’m sure I look stunning right now,” you said sarcastically.

“You always look stunning,” Gwilym said simply, and you felt your heart do a backflip. You froze, unable to look away as he adjusted his position. He propped his right elbow on the back of the couch and tucked one leg under himself; the shift made him move a bit closer to you and you moved so you felt comfortable again.

“You don’t need to lie to make me feel better, Gwil,” you laughed.

“I’m not lying,” he said honestly. “You’re beautiful. And pregnancy’s only made you even more so, I mean it,” he said, looking at you with a soft smile. He wasn’t sure what was making him confess all this now, but it just seemed like the right time to say it. And hey, you hadn’t jumped up and run—rather, waddled—for the hills, so that was good, right?

“I—thanks, Gwil,” you said softly.

“You’re welcome.”

Your heart felt like it was made up of a cluster of tiny butterflies, all fluttering and beating their wings against the inside of your chest in tandem, and filling you with an excited kind of nervousness.  You couldn’t think of more words to say, so you just returned Gwilym’s smile.  He reached over a moment later and placed his left hand on your belly, rubbing ever so slowly. His palm was warm even through your hoodie and you let out a long breath, trying to memorize this feeling—unpleasant though much of pregnancy was, you had an inkling you would want to remember the quietness of the room, Gwilym’s soft eyes, and the weight of his hand on your bump as he slowly moved his hand around on your stomach.

Suddenly—you both felt it at the same time—the baby moved. It was just a tiny nudge at first, but then you actually gasped from a few of the kicks.

“Oh my God,” Gwilym said, laughing a bit. “You weren’t kidding.”

“Told you, she’s been flipping around like a little fish today,” you said tiredly.

“Only a few more months,” Gwil said lovingly.

You nodded, but suddenly your throat felt like it was constricting and your nose stung. You instinctively bowed your head to try and hide your face, but Gwilym noticed. He noticed everything. Almost everything.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding very concerned. “Hey, Y/N, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you sniffled, trying your best to sound convincing, “I’ve been crying on and off all day, I think it’s the hormones,” you said with a tearful laugh, wiping your eyes with your sleeves.

“Are you sure?”

_No._

“Yeah,” you replied, “I cried when I dropped a pen earlier, and then at the party when I was up in Lucy’s room, it’s so unpredictable. One second I’m fine and the next, waterworks!”

You were trying too hard to lie, you knew it and you were sure Gwilym did too.

“Okay,” he said warily, “It’s just that you started crying right after I said there’s just a few more—”

“It’s hormones, Gwil!” you cut him off. “Stupid fucking pregnancy hormones.”

“Hey now,” he said teasingly, “watch the language, there’s a child here,” he said. “Didn’t the doctor say she can hear things now?”

“Shit, you’re right,” you laughed, then promptly smacked your forehead for swearing yet again.  “Jeez. And to think the first song she heard might have been the Monster Mash,” you laughed, thinking back to the party.

“Well, we can fix that,” Gwilym said matter-of-factly, and he beckoned you even closer. You felt compelled to listen, so you ended up curled against his side as he put a hand on your belly again and started humming. You could feel the vibrations in his chest as you let your head fall against his shoulder.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray,” Gwilym sang softly the baby, and you put your hand over his. You could practically feel yourself melting as he sang; he had a good voice. It was rough and unrefined, yet still quite nice to listen to. “You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away,” he finished, and you smiled happily.

“Hmm, that’s nice. Now sing something more upbeat,” you said, just to see what he’d come up with.

He thought for a moment, then smirked; he had an idea. He began tapping a rhythm on your stomach and began singing.

“Are you gonna take me home tonight?” He started to sing in a soft whisper, but it was still unmistakably Queen—and  _not_ one of their more innocent songs.

You burst out laughing and swatted him in the chest.

“Watch it!” you chuckled, “I swear, I’ll never forgive you if our baby comes out singing that.”

You fell back into silence, but failed to notice how Gwilym was looking at you until a moment later. He looked confused, almost conflicted.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him.

“You said  _our_ baby.”

_Fuck._

“Your baby,” you corrected hastily, feeling your cheeks burn. “She’s yours, I’m just—”

“Just carrying? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Well, I am,” you said.

Gwilym sighed and inched a bit closer to you on the couch. “You’re doing so much more than that, Y/N.  I know I don’t thank you enough, but I mean it. Seeing you go through this not just for me, but  _with_ me…I can’t even describe how much that means.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Gwilym reached up and cupped your cheek.  This wasn’t unusual for the two of you—you’d always been fairly touchy and affectionate—but in the dimly lit room, in such close proximity, it felt heady and needy and very significant.  You leaned into his touch and looked him in the eye, and that’s when it his you how close he was.  

You could do it. You could just lean forward, close that gap, and kiss him.  Nothing was stopping you but your own volition, and a persistent feeling of doubt in the back of your mind.  For every inch of you that wanted to risk it all, there was another part of you that warned you not to— _you’ll get too attached_ , it said.  _He’ll recoil, he’ll leave._

But Gwilym was leaning in closer—was it a trick of the light? No, he was definitely closer, and your heart was racing as you tried to decide what to do.  For a beautiful moment, all the pieces were falling into place, but at the last second, already feeling a coil of regret in your stomach, you reached up and gingerly wrapped your fingers around Gwilym’s wrist. He stopped moving, and you pressed your forehead against his, both stopping what might have happened and also silently letting him know that it wasn’t  _going_  to happen.

“I don’t think we should do that,” you finally whispered, and Gwilym could feel your breath ghosting over his lips. Your voice was so quiet that if he hadn’t felt that breath of air, he might have thought he imagined you speaking. In his imagination, though, you’d have said something much different.

He nodded and dropped his hand to his lap, reluctantly pulling away from you.

“No, you’re right, I’m—I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly.

“ _I’m_ sorry,” you echoed quickly; you didn’t want him to feel embarrassed.  “It’s okay, I’m just—sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Gwilym said; you were both dancing around the same words. “I got carried away, you’re right, we shouldn’t—can’t—”

You fell into an uncomfortable silence, but at the same time, you didn’t want to move, and you definitely didn’t want Gwilym to go home. You took a deep breath and then mustered up a smile, patting him on the leg.

“You said before you wanted to watch Beetlejuice,” you said briskly, “Still up for it?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Gwilym said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He scratched the back of his head as you leaned forward to get the remote out of the drawer in the coffee table. You turned on the TV and clicked around until you found Netflix.

“Showtime,” you said, and despite the awkward almost-kiss, you nestled back into Gwilym’s embrace.

You and Gwilym both tried to pay attention to the movie, but neither of you could really focus on anything except how fast each other’s hearts were beating, and how complicated this simple favor was turning out to be.

##  **AUTHOR'S NOTE: I’m screaming too, don’t worry :P**

##  **I really love hearing any and all feedback–what do you think happens next? Will Gwil and Y/N EVER just admit their feelings?? And I keep hinting at upcoming angst…it’s definitely coming…**


	7. Chapter 7

##  **November 15th – 28 weeks**

_Was mid-November too early for holiday decorations_? you wondered. Your workplace sure didn’t think so.

You peered over your cubicle and looked across the office.  Donna from HR (as everyone called her fondly) was already stringing tinsel and hanging other various holiday decorations by the door to the break room.  She caught your eye and smiled, pointing at the décor.

You grinned and gave her a thumbs-up, then flicked your eyes up to the clock on the wall. It was almost noon, which meant lunch for everyone else, but meant the end of the day for you. You didn’t mind your job, but the days did have a nasty habit of dragging on, so you were happy to be leaving early. Gwilym had asked you over the weekend if you would be able to come by his apartment and help with “some baby stuff” today—you hoped that was code for “let’s talk about what happened on Halloween,” but upon further explanation it had turned out he just wanted to finish decorating the nursery.

Still, you didn’t want to miss that, so you’d come in to work at an absurdly early hour. That way, you wouldn’t feel like such a dick when you left before everyone else—still, as you started to gather your things, you got a couple of dirty looks from your coworkers at their adjoining desks.

“Hey, Pete?” you said as you got to your feet, and Pete looked up from his desktop with a friendly smile, “I left those files you wanted in your mailbox; think you can go over them today? The boss man’s asking when they’ll be done,” you told him.

“Sure,” he said, “Or you could do them,” he added jokingly.

“You’re funny,” you said sarcastically, hoisting your bag up.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m on it,” Pete sighed, nodding and giving in. He was, as coworkers go, quite tolerable, although it was more than obvious he had a thing for you. It was more cute than anything—it had started pretty much the day you began your job years ago, yet he’d never made any kind of move. Not that you were complaining; you’d never date a coworker, even if you wanted to. His office crush was a bit annoying at times, but harmless, at least.

You thanked Pete and headed towards the exit, where Donna was now struggling to pin a large star of David over the copier. You had longer arms, so you took it from her and slapped it on the wall with a grin.

“Thanks, hon. I don’t know what we’ll do without you,” Donna said wistfully, smiling more at your belly than at you.  

“Hey, I’ve still go two months! Besides, it’s just maternity leave,” you assured her. “Honestly, I probably won’t even need the whole time,” you said quietly, and Donna nodded knowingly.

You had had to tell her about your situation with Gwilym since she was the head of HR, and she’d pulled a few strings to get you full paid maternity leave even though you were essentially a surrogate, but as far as anyone else was concerned, you were just pregnant.  You hadn’t told anybody who the father was, which had caused quite a bit of break room gossip at first— “I don’t even think she’s  _seeing_ anyone!”—but as time went on, most of your coworkers transitioned from judgmental to understanding.

It hadn’t stopped Pete’s pining, that was for sure.

You popped into the break room to grab a quick snack for the drive home—you wanted to change out of your work clothes and grab the nursery things you had at home before you headed to Gwil’s place.  You decided to call and let him know you were on your way, and he picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, I’m just about to leave work,” you said as you put a few coins in the vending machine, not thinking about how hard it would be to bend down and get your food out of the slot.

“Sure you don’t want me to pick you up?” Gwilym asked.

“Nah, my car’s here, that would make no sense. Oh, fuck me,” you muttered, spreading your legs like a giraffe trying to reach a watering hole as you tried to get your Doritos from the machine—thank goodness you’d worn pants instead of a pencil skirt today.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

“Yeah,” you said, straining.  “Just hard to maneuver is all.”

“Which is exactly why I should come get you,” he said patiently. “I can bring you back to your car after, really, it’s fine!”

“I’m pregnant, not on crutches, Gwil,” you chuckled, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder. “I can drive just fine.” You tried to get the machine slot open with your foot, not really knowing how that would help.  

“Positive? I can pick you up, it’s nothing,” he said on the other end, and you made a noise of disapproval. You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Pete had entered the room and he was watching you struggle with an amused look on his face. He must have come in to ask you something about the files, and you held up a finger towards him.

“I’m good, really,” you assured Gwilym. “Yes, I asked the doctor first,” you laughed. “Yes. One o’clock, I got it,” you said, nodding and rolling your eyes apologetically at Pete as Gwilym continued talking; you’d made these plans days ago, yet now he was still babbling on frantically, hardly giving you a second to get a word in.

“Did you pick up the baby mobile?” Gwilym asked.

Pete walked over and bent down to get your chips for you; he handed them to you with a smile and you mouthed  _thank you!_ as you readjusted your phone.

“I’m getting it on my way,” you told Gwilym in a sing-song voice; he’d ordered one online and scheduled it for in-store pickup. “What’s up with you? You sound all frazzled.”

“Just a busy day,” Gwilym sighed. “I’ll see you soon, drive safe.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” you laughed, then hung up with a sigh.

“Baby daddy drama?” Pete joked, and you flipped him off.  The teasing didn’t bother you, but you didn’t exactly feel like going into detail with Pete Hornby, of all people.

“Just my mom,” you lied. “What do you need? The files are all there, just—”

“It’s not about the files,” he said shyly.

“Okay, then…what can I do ya for?” you asked, a bit confused. You and Pete didn’t really talk much unless it was work banter across the divider.

“I meant to ask at the desk, but I was just wondering if—well, you’re obviously off early, so—if you’d want to grab a drink with me later? Not a  _drink_ drink,” he said with wide eyes, looking at your stomach, “But, soda? Maybe?”

You were more than a bit surprised, honestly. You looked at him, then at your stomach, then at the chips in your hand, wondering what on earth made him think asking you out made even a shred of sense.  He was a nice enough guy, but—you were pregnant. Very pregnant. You could hardly make it through an episode of SVU without falling asleep or peeing, let alone a dinner date.

“Y/N?”

You realized you’d been chatting away in your mind, but hadn’t actually said a word out loud to Pete.

“Sorry,” you said, “I’m—tonight’s no good,” you said. “And I’m not…not really interested? Nothing personal,”— _okay, it was a bit personal_ — “I’m just not really dating at all. You know, because of the baby,” you said awkwardly, trying to solidly shut him down and avoid crushing him at the same time.  

 _Right, because of the baby, and the baby’s father, who you’re in love with_ , an annoying voice said in your head. “Shush,” you said out loud.

“Sorry,” Pete said quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Fuck, I wasn’t shushing you, I—”

Pete held up his hands and started backing out of the room.

“It’s all good. I figured, I just thought I’d ask, since it didn’t seem like there was any guy in the picture.”  _Oh, buddy, if only you knew,_ you thought.  Pete scratched his head. “But it’s okay. You have my number if—anyway. Have a good one,” he said, sounding dejected, then left the room.  

 _What the fuck._ Could you not just have one normal day? You sighed and popped open the bang of chips, crunching in confusion as you headed towards the elevator and took it down to the parking garage.

As you pulled up to Gwilym’s building after a quick stop home–you felt much better now that you were in swishy pants and a big cardigan–it hit you that you hadn’t actually seen him since Halloween. The two of you texted and called so much that it felt like he was always by your side, but the last time you’d actually interacted in person had been after Rami and Lucy’s Halloween party, when he had almost given you exactly what you’d been aching for, and you’d stopped him in his tracks.

It had been two weeks since that night, yet you couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind.  Although your thoughts of candy corn had faded away and been replaced by dreams of sugar plums as the holidays drew nearer, try as you might, you kept thinking back to what had happened after the party—rather, what hadn’t happened.

You walked into his building, arms full of things for the nursery, and the concierge waved you through. Normally you’d have to sign in and have your bag checked—Gwil’s building was  _very_ nice, almost like a hotel—but the staff knew you well at this point, and knew who you were there to see.  One of the bellboys helped you carry the box containing the mobile, which was a big help. You hobbled into the elevator and elbowed the button for the ninth floor, then leaned against the cool wall, your heart beating just a little faster than usual.

Luckily, the bellboy—Jimmy, by the look of his name tag—wasn’t chatty, and you passed the ride in silence, leaving you to your thoughts.

Gwilym had left late on Halloween, after both of you had dozed off on the couch and woken up to the end credits of your movie. It was almost as if that mid-film nap inadvertently cleared the air of all the heady tension that had been there before, when his hand burned its print on your cheek and his lips were so close to yours you could almost feel them.  

After he’d gone and you’d gotten into bed, though, you fell asleep again only to dream of how things might have played out had you not reached up and stopped Gwilym from kissing you. In your mind, his lips were firm and warm against yours, and he explored your body without hesitation, feeling every curve and sweet spot. Waking up on November first was nearly heartbreaking, especially because you knew it was your own damn fault that you’d only ever feel him that way in your dreams.

The worst part—or maybe the best—was that neither of you had brought it up since. You’d gone back to work the next day as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and now, two weeks later, Gwilym hadn’t said or done anything that would indicate he even remembered what had happened. Maybe that was for the best.

Up in his apartment, Gwilym was bloody _tired_ —so tired that until you called, he’d almost told you to come over another day instead.  Your voice always seemed to relax him and give him much-needed energy at the same time.

He’d woken up at the crack of dawn to several missed emails and texts, all about tonight. As if he could forget–his agent, Dan, had been reminding him for days now. Gwilym had been put on the guest list for some fashion show—he’d worked with the designer,  _Heraldine_ , a few years back, so he was expected to come and support the new winter catalog. As much as he felt overwhelmed with everything he already had going on, Gwilym knew Dan would kill him if he cancelled. Besides, he could use a fun night out, where everything was taken care of by other people.

So, at Dan’s request, Gwilym had RSVP’d in the affirmative a couple of weeks ago, and called his cousin asking if she’d come as his date. Eilis Lee was quite the fashionista herself; she’d love something like this.

Normally, he’d ask you, but he knew how fashion shows could be—it was a lot of high-strung people in a small space, which was hard to deal with even if you  _weren’t_ seven months pregnant. Besides, he hadn’t seen you since Halloween; he didn’t think a glitzy show would be the best place to talk about what had happened. _If she even wants to talk about it_ , he thought.

So, he hadn’t invited you, and as much as he felt shitty about it, he didn’t plan on telling you about the event. It would just cause unnecessary tension. No, today would be about nursery decorating and—hopefully—clarity.

_Halloween._

Gwilym agonized over that night as much as you had, if not more. What a stupid thing to do, trying to kiss you—what, just because the lights were low and you had your legs on his lap, that made it okay to lean in? God, he was an idiot. Still, though, he remembered your face so clearly when you looked into his eyes—you weren’t angry, nor were you repulsed. If anything, you’d been hesitant and sad, as if by stopping him you were going against your very own desire.

But he couldn’t overthink that now. There was no use dwelling too long on the past when there were such big changes looming in the near future—he had auditions to rehearse for, and even more importantly, doctor’s appointments.  What’s more, he still had so much to learn about fatherhood and so many books to read that he felt like he was back at uni.  He knew that in theory, there was time—two months was plenty of time to check everything off his list and more, but the reality was that he was busier than ever between various projects wrapping up, events to show at, and all the planning it took to prepare for a baby.

Today, Gwilym had managed to block off a couple of hours—but barely—in order to finish up the nursery.  He knew once that was squared away, he’d feel much more at ease. He looked up at the clock on his wall; it was nearly one.  You’d be coming over any minute now to help put the finishing touches on the room, and then pretty soon afterwards, he had to turn on the Hollywood switch and make it through the damn fashion show.

Right on time, he heard the elevator down the hallway ding, signaling your arrival. He took a deep breath when he heard your knock on the door.

“Hey, you,” he said breathlessly, kicking some cardboard boxes out of the way to open the door and clear a path for you into his apartment. You couldn’t hug him—you were too preoccupied with balancing several pillows and stuffed animals on your belly as you carried them inside—but you managed a strained smile.

“Thanks,” Gwilym said, nodding at Jimmy and taking the mobile box from him. The bellboy nodded and left without another word. You and Gwilym looked at each other and shrugged.

Gwilym’s apartment was nice and roomy, but right now it was a maze of baby junk and packaging. There were 24-packs of diapers on the kitchen counter, an Excer-saucer by the TV, and countless Wayfair boxes that you knew probably held any number of baby goodies.

“I’m going to have it all sorted by this weekend,” Gwilym said as he led the way down the hall to the nursery, moving various obstacles out of your way, “It’s just been a hell of a few days.”

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, finally making it to the office-turned-nursery.

 _Okay,_ you thought.  _Good, not awkward so far._   Maybe Halloween really was just water under the bridge.

You hadn’t seen the nursery since Gwilym repainted it, and a huge smile spread across your face when you opened the door and took it all in.

“What do you think?” he asked proudly, standing in the doorway and leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest.

“It’s perfect,” you said, dropping all the stuffed animals and pillows in a heap on the floor. “Really, Gwil, you did an amazing job.”

The walls were a light gray that almost looked dusty blue when the light hit it the right way, and he’d painted over the crown molding in a very pale pink. The carpet was off white and quite fluffy, and with a bit of effort you removed your shoes and let your toes sink into the plush rug.  He had to have done this weeks ago, you thought, because although the room looked cleaner than it ever had, there was no irritating smell of fresh paint. He’d also brought in the changing table and rocking chair, and there were various parts of a build-your-own crib leaning against the wall where you imagined the finished product would go.

“I just want to stencil some stars up near the top of the wall,” Gwilym said, sidestepping you to enter the room and put the box on the changing table. His free hand brushed your lower back as he inched past and you felt your breath hitch.  “I got these,” he said, holding up a few plastic stencil sheets, “and the paint for this part’s really low odor, so you’ll be fine. No headaches today!”

“Let’s get to it, then,” you said with a smile as Gwilym set up a step stool and rolled up his sleeves. “You paint, I’ll decorate.”

You definitely stared a little as he began stenciling out a crescent moon and a cluster of stars; he did it with such concentration and precision, as if that small white design on his daughter’s nursery wall was the most important task in the entire world. He furrowed his brow in concentration, careful not to get any paint outside the lines, and you couldn’t help but notice how the veins in his forearm rippled with every brush stroke.

While he painted, you set to work getting the mat for the changing table set up, and then arranged all the plushies—some new, some hand-me-downs from your friends and family—so that the rocking chair became a zoo of stuffed animals.  After you were done, you headed out to the kitchen to make yourself some tea—you spotted a copy of  _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ on Gwilym’s coffee table and picked it up with a smile. He had dog-eared several pages and you brought it back to the nursery for some light reading while he continued working on the stencil border in the room.

Some time later—you’d lost track between your reading and random bursts of conversation–you held up a stuffed lion for him to see.

“I think this will be her favorite,” you said with a smile.

“Nah, the elephant!” he insisted, pointing his paintbrush at the pile of animals on the chair, “All kids love elephants.”

“Let’s make a bet,” you challenged him, and after a moment’s deliberation, Gwilym nodded, smiling over his shoulder at you before returning to his painting.  He was working on the last couple of stencils.

“You’re on. Winner gets to refuse to change one, but only  _one_ , loaded diaper,” he said, naming his terms.

You laughed, and it wasn’t until a moment later that his words really sank in. He seemed to be implying that you’d be around to change diapers, but…that wasn’t the agreement, was it? You shook it off, not wanting a repeat of the awkwardness that had happened on Halloween, and instead turned your attention towards the various crib parts propped against the wall.

“Do you plan on building that, or is the Nugget just going to have to deal with splinters?” you teased Gwilym, who laughed and glanced down at the various screws, bolts, and pieces of wood and plastic.

“My dad’s coming over in a bit to help me put it together before the sh—before I go out,” he caught himself.

“Ooh, out where?”

“Just out,” said Gwilym nonchalantly; he was glad he could focus on stenciling. It made it easier to fib. “I’m seeing some family; nothing special.”

“Fun, tell them I say hi,” you said, and Gwilym felt a sinking feeling in his stomach; he hated lying, even if it was just a little one.  It wasn’t totally untrue—he  _was_ going to see his cousin. He just didn’t want to upset you by telling you that for the first time, he hadn’t invited you to something.  You didn’t seem to catch on though, and soon you set to work unboxing and untangling the mobile Gwilym had ordered for above the changing table.

“That is so cute!” you gasped when you saw what it looked like out of the packaging—it was rather large, and had several tines spreading out from the main one; each arm of the mobile had a musical instrument affixed to it, and by the look of it, the baby would have a full band to entertain her any time she needed changing.

“Want to put it up?” asked Gwilym excitedly as he stepped down from his stool and brought it over to you. “I already put a hook in the ceiling, you just need to hang it on there.”

“You want me to—?” you asked hesitantly, not sure how well you’d fare on a step ladder. It was only a foot and a half off the ground, but still.

“I’ll hold you,” Gwilym assured you; he seemed to have read your mind, “I’ll hold you the whole time, I promise. Neither one of you is going anywhere,” he said with a soft smile.

After a minute, you nodded, and Gwilym was true to his word; you carefully got up on the top step so you could reach the ceiling, and he planted his foot firmly on the bottom one so the stool wouldn’t wobble even for a second. His hands were steady on your hips, and he only let go with one hand to hand the mobile up to you before he was holding you firmly in place again.

With the added height of the step, his head was level with your shoulders. You thought again about how close he was; just like on Halloween, all it would take was one movement. Gwilym’s grip on you tightened as you reached up to get the loop at the top of the mobile over the hook he had already screwed into place.  You let out a breath in a whoosh and you both smiled once it was in place.

“It plays music, too,” Gwilym said excitedly, his arms now wrapped snugly, almost lovingly around you as he nodded up at the mobile. “They had an option on the website to have a custom song put in,” he explained. “Press that little button on the side.”

You reached up again and found the switch, but nothing happened.

“Oh, fuck—I mean, fudge,” Gwilym said, chuckling and holding a hand on either side of your belly like he was blocking the baby’s ears. “Batteries.”

You rolled your eyes amusedly and Gwilym carefully helped you down—you knew you were safe in his arms, quite literally, but it was still a relief to be back on the ground. You felt top-heavy enough without being on a step stool; after all, you’d nearly fallen over just trying to get chips from the vending machine at work, and if that didn’t scream pregnancy imbalance, you didn’t know what did.

“Aha!” Gwilym exclaimed; he’d been rummaging through is toolbox and finally found the proper batteries. He got up on the ladder himself and popped them in, and this time the mobile sprang to life when he pushed the button.  He hopped back down and the two of you watched, entranced, as the little instruments began to move and twinkle in the afternoon sunlight that streamed in past the curtains.

A soft tune drifted through the room, and your heart swelled when you realized you knew the song.  It was Queen’s Love of My Life, but with no vocals—just the clear, gentle plucking of a music box melody as the mobile began to move in a circle. You both listened without speaking for a moment, just listened, and you realized that Gwilym had wrapped his arm around your waist. You could have pulled back, and maybe should have, but instead you snaked your arm around his back as well.

“That’s lovely,” you said once the tune ended and restarted in a loop, and only at the sound of your thick voice did you realize you were getting choked up.

“I thought it was fitting,” said Gwilym, also a bit emotional, “and definitely worth the extra cost,” he laughed, but he quickly stopped, not wanting to ruin such a tender moment.  You squeezed around his waist and leaned your head to one side so it rested right in the little hollow between his shoulder and collarbone. He moved his arm so it was around your shoulders and turned so he could rest his chin on the top of your head.

“This song just means something entirely different to me now, because of her,” he whispered after a pause, and you both placed your free hands on your stomach at the same time, partially overlapping each other.

Instinct and memories of Halloween told you to pull yours away, but before you even could, Gwilym had covered your hand completely in his, and softly swept his thumb back and forth across your skin.  

“Am I wrong for already being worried about her?” Gwilym asked softly, and you shook your head. The tears in your eyes threatened to fall and you felt your lower lip start to shake.

“No,” you said finally. You worried too, and she wasn’t even yours to worry about.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to her,” he admitted. As much as he couldn’t wait to hold his little girl in his arms instead of just feeling her little kicks, he knew she’d be born into a world that wasn’t always kind, and wasn’t always as gentle as a swaddling cloth would be. He already knew he’d never loved anything or anyone as much as he loved his daughter—the feeling was so strong it almost hurt in his chest.

You could sense his emotion and you looked up. The waning afternoon sunlight reflected off the mobile ornaments and sent little flecks of light dancing across Gwilym’s features. Rainbow faeries flitted over his cheekbones and made a temporary home in his scruffy beard as he smiled down at you, knowing that at least some of that love he felt was directed towards you, too.

The mobile continued to play out its sweet symphony, as innocent as a sleeping child that would soon lie below it, and the shiny ornaments were blissfully unaware of all that was happening in such a seemingly peaceful moment. You could tell as you leaned into Gwilym’s embrace that there was not one, but two racing hearts in the nursery, as well as a third smaller one that only existed because of the other two. That heart’s owner was still hidden from the eye, but her presence in the room was undeniable and it had a profound effect on both of you.

It hit you, as the melody slowed and the little figures stopped dancing above your heads, that you weren’t just pregnant. You hadn’t just helped a friend. You’d been a vital part of creating a new life, and had been helping that life develop from a bundle of cells to an actual baby, who—like it or not—you’d meet in just a few months’ time.

She might look like you. God, what were you going to do if she  _looked_ like you? It was a thought solidly rooted in narcissism, you knew that, but it had its truth; handing off that little girl would be hard already, but what if she had your eyes, or your skin? Then Gwilym would see you in her every time he picked her up and again when he put her down. She was as much a part of you as you were a part of her, a part that you and Gwilym both knew wasn’t just the egg you’d been able to provide. Her life was possible because of yours and his, together. As painful as it was to admit, you wanted to be a part of  _her_ life as well, and not just for the next two months.  

“You’re going to be an incredible dad, Gwil,” you said honestly, trying to keep your voice from breaking. “She’s going to be in good hands, I know it. Maybe slightly overprotective hands, but good ones nonetheless,” you said, adding a bit of levity to the conversation.

Gwil sniffed and chuckled, then grabbed a tissue and blew his nose.

“Yeah,” he said, “She’s a lucky kid, and a great one too if her parents are any indication,” he said proudly, but his smile faltered a moment later and you both knew why.  

Just like how you’d referred to the baby as both of yours, this was the first time either of you had referred to yourselves as parents.  

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he said, mortified, “I didn’t mean—”

“Are we going to talk about it?” you suddenly blurted out, pulling away from his side. “About Halloween,” you clarified, and Gwilym nodded eagerly.

“Yes. Please. I want to,” he said earnestly, and you knew from the way he looked at you so intensely that he meant it.  There was no need to ask what “it” was—the bigger your belly got, the harder it was to ignore that there was something between the two of you that went beyond friendship.  There was no question that it was there; what needed talking about was what you both thought of it, and what you thought it was.  

It wasn’t as awkward as a crush, but it didn’t feel as easy or fervent as love. You had a frightened feeling that at least for Gwilym, the pet names, the compliments, and the almost-kissing was just emotion born from circumstance. You worried it was just brought on by a baby he knew was his, that you just happened to be carrying. Pregnancy wouldn’t last forever, though, and you didn’t want Gwilym’s affection if it had an expiration date.

“Okay,” you said, nodding. You were actually quite relieved he was so willing to talk it out instead of just letting it stew. “Let’s talk, then.” You created a space on the rocking chair and sat down, holding the stuffed lion in your lap.

Gwilym sat on the step ladder and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He took a deep breath and reached across the small space between you to pinch the lion’s paw with a meek smile.

“You know, you may just win that bet. This is one cute lion,” he said softly, then looked up at you. “Listen, Y/N…if I made you uncomfortable at all that night, at the party, or when we we almost—”

“Made out on the couch?” you supplied, and Gwilym’s eyes widened.

“I mean, I was just going for a kiss, but—you thought about making out with me on the couch?”

_Oops._

“No,” you said quickly. “And it didn’t make me uncomfortable, Gwil, I just have no idea what’s going on with us…do you?” you asked pleadingly, but if Gwilym did have any idea, you didn’t find out.

Just then came a hard knock on his front door that nearly gave you a heart attack.  Immediately, you felt a rush of annoyance at whoever had such shitty timing that they just had to knock on Gwilym’s door at this exact moment.

“That’ll be Dad,” Gwilym muttered; he was frustrated as well as he looked at his watch. “Shit, it’s already three?” he yelped, jumping to his feet.  _He had to be camera ready by seven!_ It was a good thing the venue was close by.  Gwilym started to dash out of the nursery, then caught himself and turned on his heel. He looked back at you with concern evident in every line on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “We will talk about it, I promise.”  

He turned the corner and your shoulders slumped.

“Sure we will,” you muttered to yourself. You could hear Gwilym greeting his father at the door and forced yourself to get up, roll your shoulders back and put on a smile as you headed out into the living area.

“Y/N!” Gwilym’s father said loudly; coming over with open arms to wrap you in a hug.

“Hey, Mr. L,” you said, and Gwilym could tell you were upset, but his dad didn’t seem to catch on. “Gwil told me you have some crib building to do!”

“It’s Tom, please, dear,” he said warmly, with a twinkle in his eye. “How many times do I have to remind you?”

“Tom,” you repeated, forcing another smile as you pulled away.

“It’ll be Grandpa soon,” Gwilym said with an excited raise of his eyebrows.  “And Dad, we’ve got to get going on the crib now, I’ve got something later,” he said. You furrowed your brow at him, for casual plans with family, he sure sounded urgent.  And wouldn’t Tom already know of any family affairs going on?  

Without another word, Tom smiled and headed back towards the nursery, humming on his way.  You raised one eyebrow and Gwilym and folded you hands over your chest, not pleased at this turn of events.  

“So, I’ll just go then,” you said, already reaching for your bag.  Gwilym stood facing you with his hands on his hips and gave you a pointed look. He could sense your irritation immediately, and while he understood it, that didn’t mean it didn’t irk him.

“I did tell you he was coming,” he reminded you.

You shook your head and checked your purse to make sure you had everything—phone, vitamins, wallet, keys—all set.

“It’s fine,” you said shortly, though it was anything but.  “I’m not very handy anyway, I should just head home. I’ve been up since four.”

“Y/N, I really am sorry,” Gwilym said.  “I’ll find time to talk—better, I’ll make time.”

He meant it. You knew he meant it. But something about the way Gwilym was acting was really grinding your gears, and you suddenly wanted out of his apartment almost as badly as you’d wanted to talk things over with him.

“Okay,” you said flatly.

Gwilym walked you to the door and opened it for you.  

“Look, my thing tonight won’t go too late. I could come by around ten, if that’s okay with you, and we can talk about it all,” he said. “I care about you, Y/N, you know I do. Can I come then?”

You softened and nodded; Gwilym sighed in relief and smiled, pulling you into a quick hug. You wanted to hold on tight and push him away at the same time, but luckily he made the call on when to end it, and he let go of you after a few seconds.

“I’ll see you later on,” you replied with a wry smile, then headed down the hallway, feeling like you’d just taken one step forward and two steps back.

After running a few errands both out of necessity—you were running low on groceries and toilet paper—and out of desire to clear your head, you finally made it back home.  The sun was starting to set even though it was only five in the evening, a sure sign of impending winter.  You were very grateful your apartment building was well lit as you made a couple of trips to bring all your groceries inside.

Finally, once everything was put away and you’d fixed yourself a healthy, baby-worthy dinner, you could relax.  You ate alone most nights, but tonight it hit you a little harder that there was no one else in the apartment but you.  For some reason, you were really craving company, but your texts had either gone unanswered, or their recipients were busy.  Ben was at his nana’s house, Joe was on set for his next movie until the director told him otherwise, and everyone else you tried hadn’t replied.  Miffed but not entirely surprised, you grabbed a box of Oreos and a jar of peanut butter with a frown and headed over to the couch.  It was looking like another night of Hulu and pregnancy. Ha. Sounded like the sequel to Netflix and chill.

You had couch potato-ing down to a science now: while you did keep up with pregnancy exercises and stretching, you were an old pro at just kicking back with your pillow and blanket. You stretched out horizontally and lay on your side with a pillow behind you for support, then started flicking through the TV channels until you found something tolerable.  You tried not to think about how much the pillow felt like another person lying with their chest pressed against your back. A very specific person.

 _A very specific person who you’re still pissed at_ , you reminded yourself. You knew it wasn’t fair to be so annoyed with Gwilym over bad timing, but you’d been  _so_ close to finally getting the clarity you both needed, and you didn’t know when you’d get that chance again. Sure, he said he’d come over later, but by then you might be in a different mood, or you might be asleep. In fact, you could already feel your eyes begging you to shut them, and pulling you further away from the waking world with each slow blink…

When you woke up with a jolt that came from the Nugget herself, the clock read 7:30 at night—fuck, you’d definitely have trouble sleeping later now. You felt another kick; Jesus, no alarm clock was pleasant, but usually they didn’t wake you up by rearranging your intestines. Still, no matter how hard she kicked, you could never be angry about it.

“What is it, Nugget?” you asked the baby as you rubbed your belly; you talked to her a lot, actually—it started out as just a bit of chatter so that she would get used to hearing your voice, but soon you’d found yourself narrating what you were doing, or singing a little louder than usual around the apartment.  She seemed to love when you played Billy Joel—it felt like she was dancing whenever you put on The Stranger!

On a few nights, you’d even told her stories before you went to bed—it was usually just a summary of your day, or telling her how much you loved her, but on occasion you found yourself making up fairy tales on the spot and smiling to yourself whenever she moved in response to your voice.

Another jab, not so sharp this time, but longer. It was like she’d slapped her tiny hand against the inside of your stomach and moved it around.

“I know you want out,” you said with a yawn as you shook off your grogginess and sat up slowly. “But you’ve got to be patient, alright? We can’t wait to meet you either, but we’re not quite ready yet.”

 _We. Fuck_. You talked in terms of “we” more often than you cared to admit.

“Oof,” you said audibly as she kicked you again.  _Jeez._ She rarely got this aggressive, and when she had in the past, you’d usually relied on Gwilym to soothe her. It never failed to amaze you how responsive she was considering she wasn’t even born yet; whenever he talked to her, she kept still. After a few more nudges, you gave in.

“Alright, alright, let’s call your dad.”

You didn’t want to interrupt his family gathering, but you knew that despite the slight attitude you’d given him—given each  _other_ —earlier, he’d understand when you told him why you called.  However, your first call went to voicemail. It wasn’t until a couple tries later that you finally got a hold of him.

“Hi. What’s up?” Gwilym said loudly, so loudly, in fact, that you had to hold the phone a foot away from your ear. You put him on speaker to spare your eardrums; you could hear tons of chatter and music in the background.

“Nothing, sorry to bother you,” you said; he did sound like he was annoyed you’d called. “Nugget’s just feisty, I thought maybe if she heard your voice for a minute she’d calm down.”

“What?” he said, still shouting.

“I said Nugget’s bruising me,” you said, raising your voice. “Can you just talk to her a bit so I don’t feel like I’m getting pummeled?”

“Oh,” Gwilym said, but he sounded distant, like he was trying to do other things while talking to you. “One second,” he said, and after a bit more static and white noise, you heard what sounded like a door shutting, then silence.

“Hi,” said Gwilym, much clearer this time. “Sorry about that.”

“Where are you?” you asked curiously; it sounded like he was at a club, but one full of very excited and demanding customers who all seemed to know his name.

“How’s the Nugget?” Gwilym asked, ignoring the question.  “Sorry, Y/N, I don’t have a lot of time,” he said apologetically.

“Feisty, like I said,” you answered, reaching over to where you’d left the Oreos. You dipped one into the peanut butter jar and popped it into your mouth.

“Good, good,” Gwilym said distractedly.  “Yeah, one moment,” he said to someone who definitely was not you.  “Sorry, again. Feisty is better than no movement at all, though, right?”

“That’s true.”

“Put her on,” he said, and you smiled, holding the phone near (but not pressed against) your stomach. “Hey, you,” you heard Gwilym say with all the playful sternness of a natural dad, “Give Y/N a rest, we like her, remember?  No need to be quite so aggressive, we already know you’re in there, sweetheart,” he laughed, and it really did work like a charm; she stopped kicking almost immediately.

“Thanks,” you sighed.

“And how are you?” Gwilym asked.

“Fucking hungry,” you said through a mouthful. “Have you ever had Oreos and peanut butter?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Let me tell you, oh my God,” you said emphatically. “Delicious.”

“Yuck,” Gwilym laughed, and you stuck out your tongue even though he couldn’t see it.

“Hey, not my call,” you said with a shrug. “The Nugget gets what the Nugget wants.”

Gwilym laughed, although he was also checking his watch. He’d only slipped away from the pre-show activities with the excuse he was headed to the bathroom, so he needed to get back soon. People were still arriving, but the show was set to start soon, and he felt badly leaving Eilis alone.

“Nugget told you to demolish a whole sleeve of Oreos, huh?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Those exact words.”

“I didn’t know they started speaking so early,” he joked, and you were about to reply when he talked over you. “Listen, Y/N, I’m really sorry but I have to go. Family stuff,” he said, walking back out towards the runway room.  You immediately heard the noise again—cheering, shouting, and…were those camera flashes? “I’ll come by as soon as I’m done here, okay?”

“Sure,” you said uncertainly, still wondering where the hell “here” was. What family event was that rowdy? “Yeah, I’ll see you later.”

“Alright, bye!” Gwilym said, and with a click, he was gone.

You frowned at your phone, wishing you hadn’t called at all.  Hearing all the bustle in the background had made you a bit wary, and a bit jealous. You wanted to get out of the house, but the thought of going to a restaurant or a movie alone was just too sad to consider.  You decided to try Lucy one more time, this time calling her. Even if she wasn’t in the mood to go out, you could use a girl’s night. The more you thought about it, the more appealing that sounded, and you lit up when you heard her voice.

“Y/N, hi!” she said brightly, and you smiled, sitting up straight.

“Hey, how’s everything?” you asked, putting her on speaker—you cut yourself off from the Oreos and got up to put them away before you could give the Nugget any more of a sweet tooth.

“Good, good,” she said, “You know what I’m going to ask,” she said affectionately, and you nodded as you closed the cabinet.

“The baby’s fine—violent tonight, though!” you laughed. “I just had to call Gwil to have him calm her down, I swear his voice is magic.”

“You called him?” Lucy asked, sounding surprised. “Why’d you call him?”

“To talk,” you replied, confused.

“I thought you were with him.”

“I was earlier, but—wait, why?”

“Because I thought—” Lucy began to say, but she held her tongue.  You were very confused; you hadn’t even told Lucy you were going to Gwilym’s apartment earlier today, so why would she have any reason to believe you’d be with him now?

“Where are you?” you asked her.

“Um, on the way to the show.”

_What show?_

“What show?” you asked, your heart beating. You had a sinking feeling you knew where this conversation was headed. You remembered how frantic Gwilym had seemed earlier, how fixated he’d been on the time, and all the things he had said he had to get done… _oh, no he fucking didn’t._

“The Heraldine show?” Lucy said nervously. “Rami modeled for them last season and they have a runway show tonight; that’s where he and I are headed now. Gwil was on the invitee list too, I thought he—where are  _you?_ ”

“At home,” you answered, feeling sick.

You could practically see Lucy’s eyes widen as she connected the dots, and your face felt hot.  

“He didn’t—he didn’t bring you?” she said hesitantly, feeling awful herself.

“No,” you said testily, “He didn’t.”  Without even bothering to say a proper goodbye, you hung up on Lucy and tossed your phone to the other end of the couch. It lit up—she was trying to call you back—but you didn’t care.

He hadn’t invited you. No, he hadn’t even told you.  He had  _lied_ —that was the kicker.  _Family event, my ass_ , you thought. Why wouldn’t he tell you?  And who was he taking in your place?!

The ironic thing was, you hated fashion shows. Watching them on TV was one thing, but actually being there? Hell no. You wouldn’t have even really wanted to go anyway, but it was the fact that Gwilym didn’t bother to tell you about his plans that not only angered you, but hurt you too. It was just so unlike him, and as you felt tears sting your eyes, you realized the real reason behind why they were forming.

He never would have lied about something like this before you were pregnant. He’d have walked in proudly with you on his arm, both of you smiling until your faces hurt, and then you’d laugh about how silly and frivolous the whole thing was later over a bottle of wine.  But he’d lied.  Probably because he didn’t want you there in the first place. He didn’t want anyone to see the way your dress hugged the roundness of your stomach.  He didn’t want anyone to  _know._

You almost laughed at how utterly fucked up the situation was—he got to go out and flash one of his fancy suits, while you sat at home in a beige sweater, alone. Well, not entirely. You were carrying his child, after all, which was just the fucking icing on the cake. You were doing all the hard work—dealing with the kicking, the sickness, the cravings, the feeling of your insides literally distorting themselves.  _You_ were the one who cared for the baby 24/7, not him. You.

Meanwhile, Gwilym got to carry on like nothing was out of the ordinary. It made you angrier the more and more you thought about it.  He painted a few stars in the nursery, covered some bills, and read some books, so what?  You’d uprooted your whole life for Gwilym, and right now it seemed pretty damn clear that that didn’t matter to him at all.

You had half a mind to find out where the fuck this Heraldine bullshit was going down, and show up yourself. The other half of you wanted to snap a picture of your stomach and tag Gwilym in it for the world to see; that’d teach him a lesson. However, even though you were madder than a trapped hornet, you knew you could never do something like that to him. Still, your petty side wanted to even the score somehow—if he wanted to take some random date out and lie about where he was, fine. Two could play at that game.

So, instead of going to Twitter to type out some passive aggressive nonsense, and instead of calling Gwilym back to ask him  _what the actual fuck,_ you grabbed your phone and hovered your thumb over a different number.

You hesitated for just a second before hitting the call button.

“Hullo?” Pete answered, sounding rather bewildered. He hadn’t expected a call after how things went at the office.

“Hey,” you said tersely. “Still up for that soda?”

##  **I’M SORRY, I APOLOGIZE, PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I KNOW I’M A DICK!!!!**

##  **I did warn you this chapter was an emotional rollercoaster; I’d love to hear what you guys thought and / or felt while reading it–I’d love to hear your reactions to the fluffy stuff too, since I did love writing that! Does Y/N have a right to be angry? Did Gwil make the right choice by not telling her about the fashion show?? What will happen when Gwilym comes by after the show???**

##  **Stay tuned!**


	8. Chapter 8

##  **LATER THAT NIGHT – At the Heraldine Show**

Gwilym felt very…visible. The Heraldine show was packed, but each camera flash and microphone that pointed his way as he made his way down the red carpet made him feel completely exposed. He was glad that at least there weren’t any TV cameras, so there was no chance of you tuning in to see him on your screen–that would be a disaster. Still, even though he knew he was just being paranoid, he was worried that somehow you would learn about the show.

He nearly had a heart attack when you had called him about the baby kicking, thinking that you  _had_ found out. He’d ducked away from the cameras just long enough to appease you before rejoining Eilis in time to walk the carpet and head inside.  He felt horrible about lying, but the best he could do now was just to focus on making it through the show so he could get back home to you and finish the conversation the two of you had started earlier that day.

“Gwilym! Over here, Gwilym, here!”  The yammering of photographers and interviewers continued as Gwilym tried his best to turn to every angle. He’d learned over the course of his career that it didn’t really matter where he looked, so long as it was in the general direction of the media bay. Eilis was doing her best to satisfy everyone, and even blew a couple kisses at the cameras. Gwilym couldn’t fault her for that; red carpets were exciting, and on any other night he’d be hamming it up as well.

“Come on,” he whispered to Eilis after a few more moments of posing, then led her over to the interviewer who had chosen the prime spot to stand; the woman was in her mid-forties and she and her photog were stationed right at the end of the carpet, slightly away from the chaos.

“Hi,” Gwilym greeted the woman enthusiastically, giving her a half-hug. He was pretty sure he recognized her from other events he’d been to. She was professional, if a little high-strung.

“We’re joined now by Gwilym Lee, one of the stars of the recent blockbuster Bohemian Rhapsody,” the reporter told the camera, and Gwilym felt his heart skip a beat; they must be streaming live to whatever site she was from. The mic flag looked like it said  _OKBuzz_. “Gwilym, talk to me–you’ve worked with Heraldine before; what’s it like being a spectator this time?”

“Oh, it’s great,” he said loudly over the noise, “The collection’s really spectacular this season, I’m excited to see it in person. You know, the designers are some of the best I’ve ever collaborated with, really innovative. You don’t see this stuff on just any old runway.”

 _Phew._ That had to have been a sufficient answer, right?

“Excellent,” she said in an enthusiastically frantic voice, holding one hand to her earpiece and nodding. “And the suit looks familiar, is that…?”

“Heraldine, yep,” Gwilym nodded with a smile. “From last season, shh, don’t tell anyone,” he joked. “But I had to represent the brand, you know? They always make me look much better than I really do, I think,” he laughed.

“Oh, nonsense!” The woman laughed back, “And who are you here with tonight?”

“This is my cousin, Eilis,” Gwilym said fondly, making sure she was within the camera frame. The woman pointed the microphone towards Eilis this time, who took it in stride.

“It’s such a joy just to be here, honestly,” Eilis said with a winning smile; she truly was a natural on camera.  “And good to see the ‘cuz again!” She laughed, nudging Gwilym’s shoulder.

“Awesome, well, I’ll let you two get inside for the show; always a pleasure to see you,” the interviewer said with a big smile, although she was already greeting whoever was up next for questioning.

“You made it through,” Gwilym said happily once they were clear of the cameras, and Eilis let out a deep breath, laughing and sighing at the same time.

“I don’t know how you do that so often,” she said, shaking her head. “I love it, but I don’t think I could handle being your date all the time.”

Gwilym looped his arm through hers as they started making their way inside to their seats. “Well, thank you for coming. Y/N would usually come along, you remember her, right?”

“Yeah, the one you usually bring to things like this! She couldn’t make it?”

Gwilym nodded; he and Eilis weren’t awfully close, so he hadn’t yet told her that you were carrying a child for him. His extended family had started to put two and two together and knew he was having a baby, but only his immediate family knew how, and with whom.  He’d tell them all eventually, but this was neither the time nor place.

“Yeah, she wasn’t feeling all that well,” Gwilym said, “She was the one who called me back there,” he clarified, and Eilis made a sound of recognition; she’d wondered why he ran off like he did.

“Well, I hope she feels better!” She said as they walked into the building and sat down right on the edge of the runway. “Shame she had to miss this!”

 _It sure is_ , Gwilym thought.

Gwilym glanced at the name tags on the seats next to his; it looked like Rami and Lucy would be sitting there, which was a relief. They were likely among the stragglers still outside on the carpet; interviewers and photographers tended to take their sweet time and hold onto Rami as long as they could.  _Can’t imagine why_ , Gwilym thought as he smiled to himself. Rami deserved all the wonderful attention he was getting, and somehow still managed to stay humble through it all. Sure enough, Rami and Lucy got to their seats right before the show started. Gwilym stood up briefly to greet them; Rami was beaming as he hugged Gwilym, but Lucy seemed a little more reserved than usual.

“Hi, Luce,” Gwilym whispered as the lights dimmed. She looked over and gave him a tight-lipped smile, but didn’t say anything back. “Rami, Lucy, this is Eilis, my cousin,” he said.

“Hi,” Eilis said cheerfully, and shook both their hands. Lucy did say hello this time, but Gwilym noticed she seemed a little apprehensive. Huh. The photogs must have really given her a time on the carpet for her to act so strange. That thought soon left Gwilym’s mind as the show got underway, but even though the clothes were lavish and the presentation pristine, he couldn’t help but think of you–it stung to picture you sitting in your apartment by yourself, or maybe with one of the other guys if you’d called them, but still. You should be here.

Gwilym couldn’t wait for the show to end–were it not for obligation, he wouldn’t have come at all, and more than anything he just wanted to be home with you. There was no way he’d be staying for any after parties, and he made a mental note to call you as soon as the show let out.

He figured you’d be home all night–little did he know, though, you weren’t.

“I really didn’t expect this,” Pete said excitedly for the third time as he pulled out your chair for you. He’d already said it once when you met him outside the restaurant, Cartwright’s, and again when he held the door for you to go inside. When you’d called, you thought you’d be meeting him for a quick round of club soda at the bar, but he’d insisted on dinner.

You smiled politely and thanked him as you sat down.

“So, how’s your night been?” Pete asked you as he passed you a menu and gave you a smile.

_God awful._

“Good, good!” you said with fake enthusiasm. “And yours?”

“Better than it was,” Pete joked. “What made you call me, if you don’t mind my asking?”

You shrugged, already wishing you’d never hit the call button. It wasn’t that Pete was a bad guy, but you had known as soon as you pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and spotted him waiting out front that you’d made a mistake. He looked so happy, so excited, and you felt nothing but dread and regret as you put your car in park.

“I was a bit rude at the office earlier,” you said. “I just thought I ought to make it up to you, so,” you gestured to the table as if to say  _here I am!_

“Well, I’m glad,’ Pete said happily. “And I forgive you,” he added with a little laugh as he perused the menu. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Not sure yet,” you answered, hoping you sounded at least a little bit interested.

You felt badly, but no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t force yourself to be present at the table. After the waiter had brought over some water, you nodded as you listened to Pete drone on and on about his cat and about a sewer pipe that had broken a few streets down from him–gross–but you were barely listening. All you could think about was how while you sat on a boring date you had no desire to be on, Gwilym was hamming it up for the fashion world with another woman probably hanging on his arm and beaming up at him.  It made you feel sick, and it hurt you to know he hadn’t even cared enough to let you know where he’d be.

You half-hoped Lucy would confront him when she got to the show, but by eight-thirty you hadn’t gotten any texts from either of them, so you assumed she’d stayed quiet so as not to cause a scene. That was probably for the best, but you couldn’t promise the same kind of poise and rationality if Gwilym still came by your apartment later.

“What do you think?”

“What?” you asked, feeling embarrassed. You hadn’t even heard what it was Pete was asking your opinion on, and you tried to cover your absent-mindedness. “Sorry, I spaced,” you said with a chuckle, rubbing your stomach. “I’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

“Hey, perfectly understandable,” Pete said honestly. “I just asked if you wanted to split the lamb; I ate a bit earlier, so I’m not starving. Would’ve saved my appetite if I knew–”

“Sounds good to me,” you said, and Pete shut the menu with a confident slap.  The waiter came over a moment later and Pete gave him the order, then asked for a plate of edamame beans as an afterthought.  You were surprised to feel a genuine smile tug at the corner of your mouth; you loved edamame.  _Maybe the date wasn’t an entire waste after all_ , you thought, but just then, you saw your phone light up in your purse.

With a mumbled apology, you picked it up–it was a text from Lucy, bless her.

 _Brought his cousin_ , the text read, and that eased your frustration with Gwilym, but only very slightly. You knew some of his extended family; they were all just as friendly as he was.

 _Which one?_ You replied, and you waited anxiously as you watched the three dots appear in the bottom corner of the text conversation, then disappear, then come up again.

 _Not sure. Think her name’s Ella? Or ellis,_ Lucy replied, and you typed out a quick thank you to her before locking your phone and putting it back in your bag.

“Sorry about that,” you told Pete, who looked a bit irked, but still smiled back. “Tell me more about that sewer thing, did they fix it?” you prompted him, knowing that would buy you at least a couple minutes with your thoughts.

So Gwilym had brought Eilis. You’d only met her twice, once at Gwilym’s first Christmas party when he’d moved into his apartment, and again three years ago when she’d gotten married. Gwilym had brought you to Eilis’s wedding as his plus one and you just had to laugh to yourself–how the tables had turned.  There was some comfort to be had in the knowledge that he hadn’t had his PR people set him up with a model for the night, but still–Gwilym hadn’t seen his cousin in years, and suddenly they were chummy enough to go to a fashion show together? It made no sense.

“I’m just glad none of the water got into my basement,” Pete was saying, and you nodded. “One of the families down on Briar Terrace, they were right near where it broke, and they got a foot of flooding.”

“That’s awful,” you replied, shaking your head. “I hope they didn’t have too much damage.”

“Me too,” Pete said, then as he saw you nodding with a blank stare, he laughed nervously and took a sip of his water. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

_Yes._

“No,” you said unconvincingly, “It’s just been a long day. Lots of kicking,” you made up on the spot, although the Nugget had actually been quiet still for most of the day. “It’s not easy creating life,” you said with an attempt at levity.

“I was meaning to ask you about that, unless it’s too personal,” Pete started to say, but that hit a nerve and you shook your head; he stopped talking.

“If you have to ask if it’s too personal, it probably is,” you told him, and he nodded; you had a point.

“Sorry. I just wondered, since–well, it’s just that you’re on a date with me, but you’re, you know,” he said with a pointed glance, “And I’m not judging you at all, literally at all, I’m just…wondering,” he finished, and you knew what he was getting at. You hadn’t told anyone outside HR who the baby’s father was, but Pete was about the last person you wanted to talk to about Gwilym, especially now.

“It’s complicated,” you said shortly, and luckily Pete had enough sense not to pry further.

“Can I at least ask if it’s a girl or a boy?” Pete questioned hesitantly, and you felt a rush of sympathy for him; he looked like a lost puppy.

“Yes, you can ask that,” you said with a kind smile. “It’s a girl.”

“Congratulations! Have you thought of any names yet?”

You shook your head; in truth, you hadn’t give that matter a moment of thought, not that what to call her was your choice at all. You had no idea if Gwilym had considered names yet either, but if he did, it was probably something lovely, something Welsh. To you she was just Nugget.

“No clue,” you told Pete. He nodded, and in another stroke of fortune, the waiter returned a moment later with a platter and two smaller plates, sparing you from going into more detail. You thanked him and began scooping about half of the entree onto your plate as Pete did the same. The lamb saved you from about fifteen minutes of conversation as you both ate in silence. It was still an awkward silence and you kept catching Pete looking at you with a look that was some combination of concern and uncertainty, but you tried your best to ignore it.

It was getting harder to ignore your phone, though; it had begun to light up again, and you peeked down to see that Gwilym was calling you. You almost reached down to answer, before you remembered that you were still very upset with him, and had no desire to hear his voice right now.  Besides, you’d been rude enough to Pete today, and even as calls number two and three came in, all from Gwilym, you ignored them and resigned yourself to giving Pete your full attention.  It wasn’t until he got up to use the restroom half an hour later that you scrolled through your notifications.  

 _ **Missed call (3) & Voicemail:**  **Gwil**  _🤓

**_iMessage: Gwil_ 🤓 _:_** _can you call back, please?_

**_iMessage: Gwil_ 🤓 _:_** _leaving the fam in 20, am i still coming over?_

**_iMessage: Gwil_ 🤓 _:_**   _i’m still gonna come over, i’ll be there by 10_

You sighed and swore under your breath, then unlocked your phone and left him on read; you knew it was a petty way to respond, but you weren’t even sure what to say to him.  _Leaving the fam_ –so he didn’t know that you knew where he really was. You raised your phone to your ear to listen to his voicemail just as Pete returned to the table. He could tell by the look on your face that something was up and you mouthed an apology as you listened.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s Gwil…I’m almost done here, so–I mean, you haven’t answered, but I’m just gonna stop by yours like I said. I’m an hour or so out, so I’ll be back 9:45-ish. Hope you get this, call me when you do. Alright, see you soon, bye.”

Pete sat down and looked at you with his eyebrows raised.

“Sorry,” you sighed. Remembering what he’d said earlier that day when you were on the phone in the break room, you gave him a tired smile. “Actual baby daddy drama this time,” you said, and Pete nodded.

“Guess it is complicated.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Do you have to go?” Pete asked. He didn’t sound angry, but he had been hoping you might be up for a walk after dinner–there was a (slightly premature) holiday lights display in the town square he would have loved to take you to.

You nodded. “I don’t want to,” you said, realizing with a bit of a shock that that was true–staying here with Pete was, at the moment, far preferable to going home and having to confront Gwilym. “But I probably should.”

“That’s okay,” Pete said, “I get it.” He flagged the waiter down for the check and paid before you could protest, then got up and even got your coat for you off the rack.  He walked you outside, held every door, even helped you into your car–basically, he was playing all his cards right, you just didn’t want to be dealt into this game. 

 _Damn it, why’d he have to be so nice?_ you thought as he waved one last before heading to his own car. You felt a pit in your stomach–he’d be crushed when there was no second date, and you felt horrible as you drove away from Cartwright’s, knowing you’d hurt not just one, but two people.

You beat Gwilym back to your apartment and you pulled into the parking lot right around nine-thirty. You headed upstairs and changed back into comfortable clothes in your spare time. You went to the kitchen for something to drink, and your eyes fell longingly on a bottle of wine you still had in the cabinet. All throughout your pregnancy, you found that you actually hadn’t really missed alcohol at all, but boy, did you wish you could have a drink right about now.

You kept looking towards the door, wondering when you’d hear your buzzer go off, signaling Gwilym’s arrival. What would you do, what would you even say to him?

As it turned out, you didn’t have much time to think on that at all. The buzzer went off ten minutes later, as jarring and mechanical as usual, and you had half a mind just to ignore it. However, you took a deep breath and walked over to the little monitor by the door.

“Hi,” came Gwilym’s voice when you answered. “Can I come up?”

Your heart squeezed–no funny greeting this time.  You held down the button.

“Yeah, my door’s open,” you said, then went back to the kitchen to wait. For the sake of something to do, you grabbed a cutting board and an apple. You weren’t hungry, but you didn’t want to just stand inside the doorway just waiting for him to come in. You wanted to look busy.  

You heard your doorknob turn and Gwilym opened the door, then entered slowly like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. He wasn’t an idiot–he could tell from your tone when you buzzed him in that you were upset, and it wasn’t like you to ignore his calls either. Moreover, it really wasn’t like you to give absolutely no indication that you’d noticed him come in.  You were standing in the kitchen, which connected to the entryway and living space; you could see him plain as day.  After a tense moment, Gwilym took two more steps inside and knocked on the wall.

You tensed up and finally glanced his way, then wished you hadn’t. He was still wearing a suit that was far too stylish for any family event, even if there had actually been one.  You gave him the flattest, fakest smile you could; it was the type that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Hi,” he said tentatively; he still hadn’t moved from where he stood in your tiny foyer. “I said hi,” he repeated a moment later, looking at you expectantly.

“Hey,” you replied out of courtesy. You wiped the apple off on your sweater vigorously and set it on the counter, then began slicing.

“Midnight snack?” Gwilym guessed with a smile; he was trying to find any semblance of your usual demeanor, but you didn’t grin back.  

“You look nice,” you said finally, looking over at him with disdain. “Is that a new suit?” You nodded towards his outfit; it was a dark green number with black accents and the jacket flaps almost shimmered. He’d worn a black dress shirt and tie underneath, and if you weren’t so angry, you’d have been quite flustered by how handsome he looked.

“Thank you,” Gwilym said, looking down at his attire. “I’ve had it for a while, actually.”

“It’s pretty fancy for a family affair,” you said airily.

“Yeah, a bit,” Gwilym admitted. “Well, we went to a fancy place.” He didn’t want to lie outright, but he still felt like an asshole for being so vague and ambiguous.

“Gotcha. What’d you do?” you asked testily. Gwilym scratched the back of his head; you were really putting him on the spot. He still had barely gotten in the door, and had to quickly come up with something.

“It wasn’t many of us,” he said, “Just a small group, whoever could make it, really; it’s my uncle’s 80th next Monday,”–that much was true–“so we just got together for dinner.”

“Where’d you eat?” you said without looking up.

Gwilym racked his brains and spit out the name of the first semi-fancy restaurant in the area he could think of.

“Um…Cartwright’s, have you been?” he said, and your heart plummeted, falling from your chest to the pit of your stomach, where it landed with a hard, painful thump.

“Oh?” you said, your voice starting to shake a little, “That’s funny, I was actually there tonight. I didn’t see you.”

Gwilym balked and felt his face flush.  _Shit. Were you really?_

“Must have missed each other,” he said weakly.

“Must have.”

“Why were you at Cartwright’s?” he asked, genuinely curious now, and eager to get the subject away from his increasingly bad lie.

You drew in a sharp breath and swallowed hard as you debated answering. This was it; you had to tell him now or never.

“I had a date,” you said simply, picking furiously at a bit of the apple sticker, which you’d missed when you first washed it. Gwilym didn’t answer right away; he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

“You what?”

“I went on a date,” you said coolly, still refusing to look at him. You continued slicing your apple without missing a beat. You knew from his silence that your words had had their intended effect; he was pissed.  Gwilym was rooted to the spot where he stood in the entry, but he, on the other hand, couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.  

 _A date. A fucking date?_ Gwilym couldn’t discern all the emotions swirling in the pit of his chest, but he could feel the green stab of jealousy that stuck out from the other feelings like some sick, Fitzgeraldian beacon across the bay.

“Who with?” he asked finally.

“A guy from work,” you said with a shrug. “He’s been after me for months, so I figured I’d finally give him his shot. He missed, if you were wondering,” you said pointedly, and looked up at Gwilym at last to see that he was glaring at you.

“A guy from–Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered, and you clenched your jaw.

He looked really hurt, but as soon as you felt that small burst of sympathy for him, it was overtaken by a wave of sudden, bitter resentment. How dare he look so shocked? As if you couldn’t have a life beyond him. Besides, he’d had a grand old time at the fashion show without you; apparently he thought it was all fine and dandy when he went out, but when you did, it was like you were breaking some rule that wasn’t even established in the first place! God, you could scream at the imbalance of it all. You took a deep breath, though, and instead of yelling, you looked at him and gestured nonchalantly to the couch.

“Are you going to put your things down? You look pretty stupid just standing there.”

Gwilym furrowed his brow and moved, stopped as if he were going to reconsider, and then started walking again.  He crossed the room to put his things down on the couch and your eyes flicked towards him momentarily. You heard him shrug off his suit jacket and he draped it over the back of the couch, then stood by the armrest with his arms folded. He watched you over the countertop.

“You’re seven months pregnant, and you went out with someone?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. It wasn’t out of lack of understanding, oh, he understood pretty damn well, he just couldn’t believe it. It hurt him more than he cared to admit.

“What, now I can’t leave these four walls? Okay, Gwil,” you scoffed. “I’m not a nun, this isn’t a convent.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” you replied, your lips pursed.

Gwilym narrowed his eyes, annoyed that you wouldn’t look at him and even more annoyed by your attitude. He knew you were a bit upset when you left his apartment, but he had no idea why you were  _this_ upset.

“Care to tell me what you mean by that?” he said as calmly as he could. You huffed a small, empty laugh.

“God, you really don’t get it,” you said with a shake of your head. He was dumber than you thought if he really had no idea why you were so irritated.

“I might, if you’d talk to me.”

You didn’t say anything. Gwilym was standing as still as a statue by the couch. He was contemplating whether walking into the kitchen would prompt you to speak, or if maybe less physical distance would make actually talking inevitable, but it felt like he’d stepped into wet cement when he entered your apartment. There was a cold heaviness keeping him in place as he watched you meticulously cut your apple into slices far thinner than necessary.

“Talk to me, Y/N, I can’t read your mind,” Gwilym said. “You didn’t answer my calls, and now you’re acting like I’m not even here. I’m about two seconds away from making that happen, so–”

“Doesn’t feel good to be ignored, does it?” you quipped. You knew talking was the exact opposite of ignoring Gwilym, but it felt good to bite back at him.  “You know, I had a good time until you showed up,” you continued. “Kicked my feet up for a bit, had a nap, had a date—it was almost a nice night.”

Gwilym rapped his knuckles twice on the end table by the couch at the mention of your date, his way of exhibiting frustration.  He couldn’t shake the image of you sitting across the table from some dime a dozen bloke, trying to make small talk over a cocktail you couldn’t even drink.

“You’re carrying my child,” he said softly, but it was impossible to miss the annoyance in his deep voice. “Didn’t your date have something to say about that?”

That did it. You slammed the knife down on the countertop with a sharp crack and Gwilym jumped a bit, startled.

“Did  _your_ date have something to say about the fact you only brought her as a cover-up?” you snapped.

Gwilym furrowed his brow, confused, and you stood facing him with one hand on your hip until he put two and two together. His stomach flipped–someone must have told you he was at the Heraldine show, and he felt the color drain from his face. He immediately felt both terrible and embarrassed, he should have known that even though he hadn’t posted anything and it wasn’t a major event, you would find out somehow. Still, he could explain all of that–the event, bringing Eilis instead, all of it. He had a good reason for not asking you along, whereas you’d called up some nobody for a date that seemed to be out of pure spite.

“You found out,” Gwilym said.

“Yeah, I fucking found out! A fashion show, are you kidding me?”

“I had to go,” Gwilym started to explain, “I wanted to bring you–”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“You brought someone else.”

“Yes.”

“And lied about what you were doing.”

Gwilym nodded, and although he looked apologetic, you were miles away from forgiveness. You felt your annoyance growing into full blown anger with every passing second. It was like a wound left untreated and the feeling festered, forming a burning pit in your chest.

“Why didn’t you invite me?” you asked flatly.

Gwilym opened his mouth and closed it; he was realizing as he tried to formulate an answer that no matter how he spun it, if he told you he hadn’t invited you because of your condition–no matter how good his intentions had been–it would just sound insulting and rude. Instead, he offered his own question in response to yours.

“Who told you?” Gwilym asked, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Lucy,” you spat, and those two syllables sounded deadly even though none of your anger was directed towards her. “I called her for a girl’s night, but she was already on her way to the show.”

Gwilym closed his eyes, feeling the weight of realization. So that’s why Lucy had seemed off earlier.

“And this is the best part,” you added coldly, “She thought I was going with you. She was all excited to see me, too, until she realized.”

“I’m sorry,” Gwilym said, “I didn’t think it would be a big deal if you knew about it or not, it wasn’t broadcast or anything,” he said. He decided to take a step forward, and when you didn’t brandish the knife at him or anything, he walked further into the kitchen.

“That’s not the  _point,_ Gwilym,” you stressed, resting one hand on the edge of the counter for support. “I had to be told over the phone that not only were you going to this goddamn thing, but you hadn’t even bothered to tell me about it,  _and_ you took someone else!”

“Is that what this is about?” Gwilym said; he had to admit, he was a bit relieved. If you were upset because you thought he had another woman in his life, that was a total non-issue. “I took my  _cousin_ , you’ve no need to be jealous—”

“I’m not jealous!” You said loudly, although you were. “I know who you brought, Lucy let me know that too! I’m just a little baffled as to why you’d bring your cousin who you haven’t seen in years when you’ve got a perfectly good best friend and experienceddate right here!”

“I–”

“No, wait, that’s right, I’m  _not_ perfectly good anymore,” you interrupted before he could speak, “Because I’m pregnant now,” you said with false enthusiasm.

You sidestepped him and crossed into the living room so the two of you had essentially swapped places.

“Pregnant with your kid, as you so kindly remind me every fucking minute of every  _fucking_ day!” you continued, your voice getting louder as you turned back to face him. “And somehow, by giving you what you want I’ve become—well, what? Embarrassing?  A burden? You tell me, because that’s sure how it feels and I’m at a loss as to why you wouldn’t want me—”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea to bring you!” Gwilym blurted out finally, gesticulating in midair. It was true; he hadn’t invited you because it was in your own best interest; it would have exhausted you. “I didn’t, alright? We had to stand for a long time, in hot lights, with all the cameras flashing. The media was absolutely—”

“Oh, you didn’t want me in front of the cameras? I knew it.”

“Y/N, no—”

“So I’m a secret now.”

“I did  _not_ say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” you hissed. “Oh, can’t have the media seeing my pregnant friend, they might start to realize what a good person she is!” you said in a mocking tone, throwing your hands out to your sides. “God forbid people know she’s doing me the biggest favor anyone ever has,  _God forbid_ people know I’m going to be a father in two months, whew, dodged a bullet there!”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Gwilym said sternly, rubbing his temple with one hand, his other tucked in the pocket of his dress pants. His exasperated expression looked garish in the harsh, fluorescent kitchen light. He hadn’t invited you because you were pregnant, that was true, but not because he was embarrassed by you. He was just…private.

“You don’t own me, Gwilym, you don’t get to decide who knows I exist and who doesn’t.”

“I know!” Gwilym said loudly, his eyes still squeezed shut. He then drew in a breath and made a conscious effort to lower his voice; the walls were undoubtedly thin. “I know.”

You couldn’t even look at him. You were fuming—didn’t he understand how much it hurt to see him refuse to acknowledge what you were doing for him? Even back at the Halloween party, he didn’t want to take pictures, and he made sure no one got photos of you to share on their own social media. Sure, the costume had told guests at the party more or less what was going on, but he made sure the news didn’t leave Rami’s house. You felt cloistered, like he didn’t want anyone to know it was you carrying his child. Like he didn’t want anyone to know about the baby, period. Logic told you it wasn’t true, but there was no room for logic in your mind at the moment.

“You should post a picture of the nursery,” you said coolly. Blood was already rushing in your ears, but if you could avoid yelling and waking up the neighbors, that’d be ideal. “Unless that’s a secret too. Wouldn’t surprise me, you seem pretty keen on hiding this entire situation.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Oh, come  _on_ ,” you said, finally looking up at him with pain and anger in your eyes. Gwilym looked genuinely confused, and pissed. “Just say it! You didn’t invite me because I’m pregnant and you don’t want people to know!”

“That’s not true!” Gwilym shouted back, feeling angry adrenaline coursing through his veins.  _Well, not entirely true._

“Bullshit,” you hissed back. “You haven’t said more than two words about me to anyone besides the guys and your parents!  You don’t take pictures with me, you brush off everyone’s questions—you don’t invite me out to things anymore, as I’ve learned tonight.  No one has any idea what you’re doing, what I’m doing—”

“That’s what we agreed on!”

“No, it isn’t!” you said angrily. “We said we’d be vague with strangers, but that if people asked, we’d tell them!”

“Oh, and you’ve been telling everyone and their mother, I’m sure,” Gwilym said sarcastically. “Except you haven’t, not if you’re going on dates with coworkers. You’ve been just as quiet about it as I have.”

He had you there. You responded by folding your arms and staring at the wall.

“Yeah, thought so,” Gwilym said.

“You promised we wouldn’t make it some big secret,” you cut in, needing to drive your point home so that it actually  _was_ a point made. “Yet here we are two months out and you haven’t told your fans, your extended family, or anyonewho doesn’t need to know! You’re talking about a human, Gwil, a human child. What are you going to do, just show up to a movie set one day with a stroller?”

“Maybe!” Gwilym said, his frustration starting to get the better of him.

“Do you realize how ridiculous that is?” you said aggressively, wanting him to understand where you were coming from. “You’re keeping her hidden, keeping  _me_ hidden! Just say it, you didn’t invite–”

“FINE!” Gwilym exploded. “I didn’t invite you because I didn’t want people who have no business knowing about my life,  _knowing about my life_ , is that what you want to hear?! I can say that if that’s what you want. I can say that it’s no one’s business but ours, Y/N,” he said through gritted teeth. “Because you know that’s true, you just said it–I haven’t told people who don’t  _need_ to know.”

“But those people would  _want_ to know!” you said earnestly. “And you should want them to, it’s your baby for God’s sake, are you even happy you’re going to have one?!”

“Of course I am!” Gwilym yelled. “Why the hell would you say something like that, are you–?” he bit his tongue and harshly pulled on his tie to loosen it; it was much too hot in your apartment all of a sudden.

“Am I  _what_?” you said back in a deathly whisper, daring him to finish that sentence. “Crazy? Is that what you were going to say?”

“You’re sure acting like it,” Gwilym moaned in frustration. He tried to remind himself to stay calm; he knew part of this was because you were hormonal as all get out, and you couldn’t help that. But still, he knew better than to write off actual emotion as simply hormonal imbalance. If you were upset because of something he did, then he wanted to talk it over, but not like this. Not with raised voices, not by shouting across ten feet of linoleum.

“It’s not that I’m not excited that you’re having my baby, I just don’t want to broadcast my entire life to people who aren’t part of it,” Gwilym said.

It was a valid point. Perfectly valid. You knew that, but there was something clouding the logical part of your mind, and all you wanted to do was make sure he knew how upset you were. 

“But  _I’m_ part of it!” you shouted, pressing your fingers into the area over your heart. You could feel your throat start to tighten. You could practically feel your hormones all working together to blow things out of proportion, and you didn’t know how to stop them. “And I don’t feel like I’m a very important part of it when you don’t—when you act like this isn’t even happening!” you finished, gesturing wildly at your stomach. That was a bold, exaggerated statement to make, but you couldn’t help it.

“Oh my God, will you shut up for one minute?!” Gwilym yelled, and you were so shocked that you actually took a step backwards.  “Listen to yourself. You don’t think I know this is happening?! You were at my place just today, you saw how much I’m doing!”

“You’re doing?” You shouted back incredulously. “ _You’re_ doing?! I’m the pregnant one, not you!” you shouted, close to tears. “ _I_ feel her move every time,  _I_ get woken up because she’s sitting on my bladder,  _I_ threw up for months because of her and I’m going to have to give birth to her, Gwilym! You get to go home every night and have a full 8 hours, meanwhile I’m literally wrecking my body day in and day out for your sake!”

“Oh, go ahead, tell me all about how much time you get to spend with  _my_ daughter,” Gwilym sneered, both hands on his hips as you glared each other down. “You don’t think I think about it every day, how I’ve missed so much of my own daughter’s–”

Gwilym’s voice broke but he didn’t cry; he just shook his head at the ceiling while you watched him; you were confused and starting to see red. He pressed his hands over his face and slowly dragged them downwards, staring upwards with an exasperated shake of his head as he opened his eyes again. He rubbed one hand over his scruff, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

You’d touched on his biggest insecurity, one you didn’t even know he had because he hated that he had it at all. It hurt like hell to miss so much of your pregnancy–he was lucky he even made it to the doctor’s appointments, but he wanted to be there for the in-between moments, too.

He wanted to be there to see each little way your body changed, every groan and  _harumph_ when another pair of pants became too tight, every bout of random crying or laughter or irritability. He wanted to be there any time you needed a massage, not just when the timing worked out that way. It felt like he’d missed out on it all–Christ, he hadn’t even gotten to feel her first kick, or take progress photos of your belly, or have you wake him up in the middle of the night because you had to pee. He wanted that, so badly…but that’s not how it worked when pregnancy was a favor and not a step in a relationship.

“If I could be there every second, I would,” Gwilym said thickly, punctuating each word. “But we don’t live together, so yeah, of course I’m not always around! Thatkills me. Because I love her, and I love–” he drew in a sharp breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing, “–and I want to know that little baby the way you do, but I can’t. I literally can’t! I don’t know what you want me to say. We have separate lives and jobs and things to do, and like it or not that’s part of what we signed up for with the way we chose to do this.”

He was talking to himself as much as he was talking to you, and tried his best to rationalize his own internal struggle.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“Drop the attitude,” Gwilym said suddenly, harshly. “You’re not five years old and you’re not the only one who’s upset here. You’re mad because you’re with her all the time and you feel like I’m not present, is that it?”

He looked at you expectantly and you nodded, folding your arms across your chest once more. Gwilym took a deep breath. He desperately wanted to bring this argument back into the realm of discussion instead of aggression.

“I’m worried every second that she’s not going to bond with me once she’s out because of that exact same reason,” he said calmly but firmly.  He’d been thinking that for a while, but it was the first time he’d voiced his concerns out loud and hearing them sounded like a nail in a coffin.

You froze; you hadn’t considered that at all. For you, it would be hard to let go; for Gwilym, it might be hard to connect.

“You didn’t even think about that,” he said emptily, dropping his hands to his sides and shaking his head. Your silence confirmed it. “Of course you didn’t.”

You didn’t say a word as you let his words sink in. He had a point; you felt so alone and isolated yourself that it hadn’t occurred to you he might feel similarly, but for different reasons. You had what he wanted to be a part of now, but once the baby was born…he’d get to experience what really mattered. He’d miss nine months–not even, because he had made an effort when he could–and you were going to miss the rest of the baby’s life.

“You get to have her,” you croaked out, you voice shaky and quiet.

“What’d you say?”

“When she’s born, she’s yours,” you said louder this time. Your anger was bubbling up again. “And I’m doing all of this, for what? Not for me, I don’t get the cute little baby at the end. This is for  _you_ ,” you said, and the dam broke. Tears started pouring down your face and Gwilym instinctively took a step towards you to comfort you, but you backed away and angled your body away from him, so he stopped.

“It’s all been f-for y-you,” you cried, “And so to h-have you go behind my back, and not t-tell me things like about the show, and lie to me, it makes me feel like sh-s-shit,” you sobbed out nearly incoherently, not caring that you spit on the last syllable, not caring that you looked an absolute mess. “Like you don’t c-care how I feel.”

“And how do you think it made me feel when I came in the door to hear you went out with ‘some guy from work,’ huh?” Gwilym was staring at you with those piercing blue eyes of his; it broke his heart to see you in tears and know he’d caused it, but he wasn’t about to back down, either. Maybe if you hadn’t gone out with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was, Gwilym would just apologize and let it be, but the matter wasn’t that black and white. It was a mottled, ugly gray that cast a thick shadow over the space between you, like a thundercloud about to open up.

“Why would you do that?” he asked sadly.

 _Because I knew it would hurt you_ , you thought. It was an awful reason and you hated yourself for it–you knew as soon as you met Pete at the restaurant that the small bit of sick victory you felt knowing you’d evened the score wasn’t worth the pain it would cause Gwilym. You’d been so caught up in your anger and frustration with him that it seemed like a good idea, but now you just felt like a horrible person.

“I wanted you to feel how I felt,” you admitted, as much as it made you feel sick to do so.  

“Well I’ll tell you how it made me feel,” said Gwilym in a tone of voice you’d never heard from him before. It was calm yet tumultuous, and for the life of you, you couldn’t tell if he was going to shout or cry. “It makes me feel like you don’t care that she,” he said, pointing at your bump, “Happened because of you, and me. That it doesn’t matter to you that that’s our little girl.”

Silence. For a few blissful seconds, there was silence, and Gwilym almost thought the worst was over, when in reality it was the calm before the storm.

You stared at him with a wild, sad look in your eyes. That was what you’d always wanted to hear Gwilym say, but now, in this context, it sounded like poison and you couldn’t even pinpoint exactly why.  Hadn’t you longed for the baby to be yours as well as his, all along? And now he’d all but confirmed he thought the same thing, yet you still felt like your whole body was buzzing with rage.  

“But she’s  _not_ ,” you said.

“Y/N–”

“SHE’S NOT!” you screamed, “We–” you pointed wildly between the two of you, “Are not a couple. Just carrying, remember?!”

“Alright fine!” Gwilym shouted, “You’re right, we’re not a couple, but you can’t deny we’ve been acting like one and that’s probably what’s got us both so fucked up in the first place! That’s why we slip up and call her ours–don’t give me that look, you’ve done it too–and that’s why, when I hear you’ve gone out with some other guy while you’re carrying my child, it pisses me off!”

“I’m not your girlfriend!” You screamed back, and you meant for it to sound furious, but it just sounded desperate and sad, and the sentence had been ripped apart by a half-sob. “I’m just your–your surrogate, your incubator, whatever you want to call it, but I’m not your girlfriend, and we both know the plan was never for me to be a mother!” 

Gwilym felt like his heart had shattered into a hundred pieces for a hundred reasons, and the most painful of them all was that you were right. That had always been the deal, from the very start when he’d asked you if you would carry in the first place. That had been the deal when you met with Dr. Harrison, and when you found out the IUI had worked, and when you’d dressed up in your costumes.  Somewhere along the way, the lines had gotten blurry in his mind, and he’d convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way about him as he did about you. Just maybe, you’d be a family in the end. For a while it seemed like you wanted that too, but he could see now that apparently he was mistaken.

“Okay, fine,” he said in defeat, and his voice was hoarse from shouting. “If that’s how you want it to be, fine. We’ve got two months left, and then you can do whatever you want with your life again.” Gwilym was getting riled up again and his voice got louder the longer he spoke. “I won’t get in the way of your shitty job, or your business trips, or you going out with any guy you please, no matter how much of a nobody he is.”

You were crying silently now, wondering how you’d managed to dig yourself into such a deep hole. All you wanted was to be with him; why was it so hard to say? 

“You’re acting like once she’s born, I’m just going to run off and forget you,” Gwilym said, watching your reaction carefully. “Or like I wouldn’t let you see her. I hope you know that’s not the case.”

“That’s not  _it_ ,” you moaned, your face in your hands. Your shoulders shook with suppressed cries as you tried to find the words to explain why you were dreading the day the baby was born. You could hear the words kicking around in your mind, but your voice was shaking so hard even without saying anything that you weren’t sure if you’d be able to make a coherent sentence out of the words that danced a hesitant  _danse macabre_ on your tongue.

“Then what is it?” Gwilym asked softly. He took a few steps closer and this time, you didn’t flinch away, but that was only because you still had your eyes covered and didn’t see that he’d moved.

“I can’t say it,” you mumbled. How could you vocalize months of pent-up longing when you could hardly even figure out your own thoughts long enough to tell if you were making any sense at all?

“Please try,” Gwilym begged you. 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you whispered, more to yourself than to Gwilym.

“Say something, bear,” he said pleadingly. That caught your attention.

“Don’t call me that,” you whispered, wiping more hot tears from your cheeks. “I can’t hear you call me that right now.”

You shook your head and turned your back to him, and that changed the entire atmosphere. Whereas a moment ago Gwilym had felt like you were both on the brink of apology and honesty, now he felt like you’d put up a concrete wall right in the middle of the living room, in the form of your turned back.

“Y/N,” he said, dangerously low, “What I’m not going to do is stand here and go in circles with you. Either we talk about this, or we don’t, but you need to decide which it is right now.”

You made a noise in the back of your throat that sounded like protest, and Gwilym recognized it for what it was–a plea for him to stay–and answered it.

“Then let me know what’s really going through your mind,” he said.

You sniffed loudly and wrapped your cardigan tighter around yourself. You wiped your nose on the back of your hand and took a moment to compose yourself, and your thoughts. Finally, with one arm resting on the curve of your stomach and the other half hiding your face, you took a deep breath and looked up at Gwilym.

‘It’s not that I don’t think you’d let me see her,” you said in a shaky whisper. “It’s that I’ll  _have_ to. I think–I  _know_  I’ve gotten attached. And that wasn’t the plan, and now I’m going to see the way you hold her and raise her, how she grows a little more between each time I visit.” You choked back a sob; saying all this out loud made you realize it even more than you already had. “I’ll have to see how wonderful a father you are, and how much she loves you, and I’m going to watch it all happen from the side,” you said, hardly able to even finish the last words because of your emotion. It felt like your throat was closing in on itself and you soaked your shirt cuff as you wiped away some of your tears, only for them to be replaced by new ones.

Gwilym was shocked, and it felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of ice over his head and then followed it up with scalding water. Just moments ago you’d said you weren’t going to be a mother to his baby, and now you were in tears over the thought of  _not_ taking on that role? It felt like you were telling him two different things, and he didn’t understand, nor was he sure you even did. You’d also strayed so far from the original reason behind your frustration that he couldn’t help but wonder what else was bothering you that you hadn’t told him. The very thought made his heart sink and he felt his shoulders slump.

You glanced at him, afraid of the expression you would find, but he looked neither angry nor sad.  If anything, he looked deflated, like the last leftover birthday balloon that overstays its welcome and hangs around halfheartedly, unable to choose between the ceiling and the floor.

“That’s what we agreed seven months ago, Y/N,” Gwilym said slowly, trying to understand, “And that’s what you just said you knew, just–just now. Why are you crying if–”

“Because I think–” you cut Gwilym off, then barely suppressed another ugly sob with your hand, “because I think I love you,” you choked out before you could stop yourself, and then you completely broke down.

Great, heaving sobs wracked your body and you held onto the back of the couch so you wouldn’t fall over. It was a combination of your hormones, your undeniable feelings, your  _conflicting_  feelings, and everything that had been bubbling up since Gwilym had asked you carry–the load was almost too much to bear, and it was all crashing down at once.

Meanwhile, Gwilym was dumbstruck, and a look of sad horror began to spread across his features. Your expression mirrored his and you tried to hold it together.  At the same time you looked him in the eye, you felt one of the hardest kicks you’d ever gotten from the baby; it came out of nowhere and you gasped in pain, doubling over. It was like she’d been listening in on all this fighting, and wanted it to stop.

Gwilym immediately lunged forward to help you, but you held up an arm to block him.

“Don’t touch me,” you said sharply, still shaking.  “Y-you have to go.”

“What?” Gwilym whispered, sounding horrified. “No–wait–I want to talk–”

“ _Go_ ,” you interrupted, frantically gathering his things from the couch and shoving them into his arms.

“What do you mean, you think you love me?” Gwilym asked, now near tears himself as you ushered him towards the door. Even though you used as much force as you could muster, it was hard to get him to move, even harder because he had no desire to leave, not after what you’d just said. “Y/N, stop, please!” he said, desperately trying to prevent you from pushing him out the door.

“I want you to leave!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face.

Gwilym had never seen you this distraught in all the years he’d known you; how long had you felt this way? How much time could have spent together, as a couple, if only he’d known sooner? He couldn’t find the words to say, even though they were so simple– _I love you too, I always have_ –but judging from the way your whole body was shaking, he doubted you’d want to hear them even if he could.

“Please, just go,” you whispered, your hands on his chest. You were both crammed in the tiny entryway to your apartment.

“Okay,” Gwilym finally acquiesced, and the look on his face was so wrought with pain and confusion you wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “Okay,” he repeated softly, reaching one hand behind himself to find the doorknob. He opened it just wide enough to slip out and once he was in the hallway, he opened his mouth in one last effort to make amends and to understand, but you’d already shut the door.

He could hear your loud sobs, muffled by the wooden door between you, and after one last moment of hesitation, he turned on his heel and walked briskly down the hallway, nearly bumping into a concerned neighbor on the way. His mind was reeling– _I think I love you_.  He replayed those five words in his head on loop as he took the stairs down. They echoed, bouncing around like a bullet ricocheting around his brain as he walked outside. It was drizzling, and Gwilym moved mechanically as he hailed a taxi from the curb outside your building. His voice didn’t even sound normal as he told the cabbie his address.

Physically, Gwilym was slumped against the backseat, which smelled like stale cigarettes, but his mind was still up in your apartment. The whole ride home, he agonized over all the things he’d said, and even more over the things he hadn’t.

##  **I know this one hurt. I’d love to hear your thoughts <3**


	9. Chapter 9

##  **Three Days Later — 7:30 p.m.**

“Hello?” Ben answered his phone, nearly dropping it as he tried to balance it in one hand while filling Frankie’s dog bowl with food at the same time.  “Gwil, hey, buddy, what’s up? I’m coming, I’m coming,” Ben said to Frankie, then set her food down and straightened up.

Ben’s voice was so friendly and so curious that Gwilym immediately started to get choked up. He held his phone away from himself for a moment, blinking back the tears, then sniffed and put the receiver back to his ear.

“Hey, uh, I was wondering if you could come over tonight,” he said.  

“What time?”

“Um…eight?” Gwilym said sheepishly, glancing at the clock–it said 7:30. “I know it’s last minute, but Joe and Rami are coming too…I need to talk to you guys,” he said.

It had been three days since Gwilym had gone to your apartment after the Heraldine show, and three days since you had literally pushed Gwilym out. He felt like he’d truly hit rock bottom. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he deserved some of the blame—you had both made mistakes—it was more the knowledge that he’d upset you as much as he had that made him feel like a complete asshole. You had texted him a few times since the two of you fought, and his phone was now home to a string of apologies and pleas for him to call, but he hadn’t replied.

He should. He knew he should, even if just to let you know he would want to talk in time. Still, though, he had no idea what he would say to you that could even start to make amends. It was so horribly easy to tear someone apart with words, and so difficult to put them back together—Gwilym didn’t know where to begin, but he knew it’d be better done in person rather than trying to make a text seem like a genuine apology.

Gwilym just hoped that talking to someone first, or in this case, three someones, might help him figure out how to start fixing this mess.

“Is this about Y/N?” Ben asked.

“Yeah—did she say anything to you?” Gwilym asked, his heart clenching.

“No,” Ben said, “But I heard that show you went to didn’t exactly, uh, end well with you guys. I’m sorry, mate.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Gwilym said sadly.  “Who told you that?”

“Rami told me that Lucy told him that Y/N told her that you didn’t tell Y/N about the show, and…well, you know the rest better than I do.”

“Yeah,” Gwilym said sourly. He was in the nursery, checking all the screws on the crib for the hundredth time, and he finally sat against the wall with a sigh and looked up at the ceiling. “We had a big fight at her place when I got back,” he said.

“About what?”

Gwilym paused.

“A lot,” he said finally. “The show, the baby…just a lot.”

“Really? You two never fight,” Ben replied, sounding concerned. He tucked Frankie’s bag of food back under his sink and leaned against the kitchen counter, one hand in the pocket of his sweats and the other holding the phone.

“First time for everything, I guess,” Gwilym said bitterly. “It was bad, mate. I just—I need to talk it over with you guys, I don’t know what to do.”

“Alright. I can leave for yours in ten, if that works,” Ben said after a pause. He didn’t really want to get directly involved in whatever had happened between you and Gwilym, but he also wasn’t one to leave a friend in the lurch, especially when that friend was so clearly in pain.  Ben was a good listener with a perpetually open ear, and he knew that was what Gwilym needed.

“Thanks,” Gwilym said glumly. “Any chance you can bring Frankie, too?”

Ben chuckled softly and whistled. “Man, that bad, huh?” he said, looking down at his dog. Frankie smiled up at him, her tongue waggling.

“That bad.”

“Sure,” Ben said, and Gwilym could hear the jingling of keys and the faint pitter-patter of Frankie’s paws in the background. “Me and my girl will be there soon, hang in there, alright?”

“You’re the best, man, really,” Gwilym said, then hung up. He looked around the nursery, in all its tidy, baby-ready glory, then down at his phone miserably. Even though he knew all it would do was hurt, he went to his messages and looked at the string of them you had sent over the last two days.  Some were still a bit angry-sounding—he supposed he deserved that after how much he’d yelled, and some of the things he said—but the others were just sad and longing.

 _Say something_ , he told himself,  _say anything_. He just couldn’t.

Twenty minutes later; Joe and Rami arrived and made themselves right at home. Joe cracked open a beer, and Rami was sitting on the loveseat, holding one of the many stuffed animals meant for the baby. It was a purple bear with a white bow, and it’s cheeks lit up whenever someone squeezed its paw. It had been an early baby gift from Gwilym’s sister, who Gwilym had a sneaking suspicion was vying for the godmother title.  _As if that was any competition_ , he thought fondly.

“Look, it’s blushing because it’s so embarrassed to be near you,” Rami drawled, pointing the bear at Joe and snickering.

“Or it’s nervous because I’m so handsome,” Joe replied coolly, winking at the stuffed animal.

“Will you stop defiling Nugget’s bear, please?” Gwilym laughed; he was waiting on Ben to bring up what he really needed to talk about.

“‘Nugget,’” Joe mimicked, “How long are you going to call her that? We need a name, man, time’s a-tickin’” he said, tapping an imaginary watch on his wrist.

“Yeah, I want to get her something with her name on,” Rami added, “Preferably something not off the McDonald’s menu.”

Joe snorted mid-sip of his beer and Gwilym laughed off their persistent questions–now they were brainstorming names for the baby girl, and when Gwilym hear ‘Broomhilda’ come up, he was very glad to hear the buzzer signal Ben’s arrival.

As it turned out, Gwilym had to take the elevator down to let him in; his building had a “no dogs” policy so they’d stopped Ben at the front desk, but Gwilym assured Charlie—his favorite concierge—that Ben was just here for a short visit. Charlie took one look at Gwilym’s face, tired and clearly wrought with frustration, and jerked his head towards the bank of elevators with a small smile.

“If anyone gives you trouble, Janet was working, not me” he joked, and Gwilym gave him a mock-salute before pressing the button.

“I really appreciate this, you guys,” Gwilym said once he and Ben got back up to the apartment. He let Ben and Frankie in first, then closed the door behind himself.

“Not a problem,” Ben said as he crouched down to unhook Frankie’s leash. The beagle immediately began romping around Gwilym’s spacious apartment, eagerly sniffing everything she could find before she bounded back over to Gwilym and put her paws up on his thighs, wagging her tail. “Oi, no jumping!” Ben scolded her, then said in a softer voice, “We talked about that, Franks,” but Gwilym shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching down to muss up Frankie’s fur a bit. “Hey, pup!”

“I’m trying to teach her better manners,” Ben laughed as Frankie ran over to Joe and hopped up on the couch with him.  She landed right on Joe’s lap and he groaned, suppressing a burp as Frankie sat on his stomach. “You could learn some too, sounds like,” he joked, and Joe shot him the bird.

Gwilym smiled, feeling a bit better now that his three best friends were there, then headed over to the couch and sat down at the end; Ben joined the group and Frankie promptly relocated and settled in his lap.

“Can she be up here?” Ben asked, indicating Frankie, who’d rolled onto her back for a belly rub.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Gwilym said—as if he could turn down Frankie’s literal puppy-dog eyes if he tried. He made a mental note to vacuum and lint roll later, but for now it was fine.

“So…what happened?” Joe asked a moment later.  “Last time we saw you and Y/N, everything was good.”

Gwilym sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath. He told the guys about the Heraldine show, and how he had lied to you about it right up until the second you called him out (“Damn, you don’t lie to a pregnant woman, Gwil, you just don’t,” Rami had said, to many nods from the other guys.). Gwilym truly felt horrible about that, and he wasn’t sure how much apologizing it would take to make it right, but he would damn well try. He explained the fight, too, though he spared the guys the details, and told them how you had said you felt like he didn’t want people to know you were having his baby.

“Which isn’t true,” Gwilym said emphatically. “You know I’m ecstatic she’s having my daughter; I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else!”

“Yeah,  _we_ know that,” Ben couldn’t help but point out. “We know you both and we see how excited you are, but—” he looked at Joe and Rami for reassurance, “You haven’t exactly been open about it,” he said slowly. “Which I get why, don’t get me wrong, but I also can see where she’d feel a bit…”

“Taken for granted,” Joe supplied with a squinty frown, and Ben nodded hesitantly.

Gwilym was absolutely crushed; he truly never meant to make you feel unimportant—he just didn’t want everyone knowing his business. But after hearing what you had said the night of the show and now getting confirmation from the guys that you had a point, he could absolutely see where he’d gone wrong, and why it had come across like he was trying to hide you. Seeing Gwilym’s face fall, Rami sat up straighter and cleared his throat. He tossed Gwilym the stuffed bear he’d been holding and Gwilym caught it, smiling sadly at the little thing.

“Press it’s paw, it’ll help,” Joe said, and even though it was silly and rather pointless, Gwilym did just that.

“It’s like me and Lucy,” Rami then started to explain. “When we first got together we were really quiet about it, but after a while it was getting to me real bad, you know? I wanted to take her out and not have to sneak around, but she didn’t want people always taking pictures…it just kind of started really affecting us, so one day we decided, fuck it, let’s put it out there.  So we did. And it’s not like we’re totally public, even now—People just know we’re together, and it’s fine! I know that’s not the exact same thing, but I guess my point’s that you could say what’s going on, and still keep the details between you and Y/N.”

Gwilym nodded; that made sense.  Still, after how the fight had gone and after you’d made him leave, he wasn’t sure you’d want anything to do with him ever again. The way you’d begged him to leave, tears streaming down your face—that wasn’t how the Y/N he knew handled arguments. Some of your distress must have been augmented by the pregnancy hormones, but still, in all the years Gwilym had known you, you’d never been that upset before.

“I got so angry,” Gwilym admitted ashamedly as he scratched Frankie behind the ears, “And so sad, and so did she. I feel horrible, but it’s been tough on me too, you know? I feel like I’m not always there for her, and that’s what’s upset her, but it’s not like it’s easy for me, either.”

“So how did you leave things?” Ben asked, looking at Gwilym with one arm propped on the back of the couch, his chin in that hand. Gwilym took a deep breath and shook his head.

“That’s just it, we didn’t get anywhere,” he said hopelessly, rubbing his beard, “Just shouted. I said what I had to say and she said her piece, but…we basically just yelled at each other without actually fixing anything.  Guys, I think I really fucked up,” he finished quietly, his face in his hands. Frankie seemed to sense that Gwilym was  upset—or maybe just wanted more pats—and sat up and started licking at his hands until he relented and scratched her behind the ears again.

“How so?” Joe asked.

“Besides the fashion show,” Rami added, and Gwilym grimaced, but he knew Rami was right.

“After we fought, she wanted me to leave,” Gwilym said with a heavy heart, “And…I did. I should have stayed, especially since she said—”

“Said what?” Joe asked.

“She said she thinks she loves me,” Gwilym said, sounding defeated. He could still hardly believe that those words had actually come out of your mouth.  And then, so soon after, it was like you wanted to take them back.

“What?” Rami said in surprise, and Gwilym looked up to see that Ben’s expression was just as shocked. Joe, on the other hand, sighed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his beer in one hand as he looked at Gwilym with an expression that was a mixture of pity, but also frustration.

“Oh my God,” Joe said with a sympathetic smile, “You two are so  _blind_.”

Everyone looked at Joe, who looked surprised no one else had had the same reaction.  

“She said she loves you?” Joe prompted, and Gwilym nodded.

“Well,  _thinks_ —”

“Yeah, ok, same difference,” Joe said with a wry smile, “She loves you. You love her too, Gwil—Ben, you agreed, you said so at the Halloween party. You two are into each other,” Joe said to Gwilym, who felt his heart start beating faster, although he still felt awful.

“I said he likes her,” Ben clarified. “Like and love are different.”

“Yeah, but come on, even I’ve noticed how they look at each other,” Rami joined in. The other three men were speaking amongst themselves now. “Not to mention they act like a couple.”

“I knew it,” Joe said knowingly. “Right when he told me he’d asked her to carry for him, I had a feeling. You don’t ask that from someone you don’t love, at least to some degree.”

“I guess,” Ben said with a frown, still rubbing Frankie’s back.

Gwilym was sitting on the sofa, rubbing his temples as he listened to them bicker. Finally, he’d had enough.

“Guys.  _Guys_ ,” he said. “I’m still here.”

“Could have fooled us, you haven’t said much,” Joe pointed out teasingly.

“I do love her,” Gwilym admitted, “But you were right, months ago,” he said in defeat, looking at Joe. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“About…?” Ben prompted.

“This!” he said, gesticulating in midair. “The baby, asking Y/N to carry for me, everything—it was all a mistake.” He could feel tears coming; he couldn’t bear thinking that by trying to bring a new person into his life, he might end up losing someone who was already there.  Someone who meant more to him than he could even put into words.

“Mistake is a little harsh,” Rami said comfortingly. “Everything was going fine up until now, you guys just need to talk it out, I mean…it sounds like you might want the same thing.”

“It’ll never be the same with her now,” Gwilym continued. “It just won’t.”

His voice broke and as much as he didn’t want to cry in front of his friends, he couldn’t help it. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and bowed his head; Rami, Joe, and Ben all looked at each other with genuine concern. Finally, Ben gently nudged Frankie off the couch and moved so he could clap a hand on Gwilym’s back.

“You’re right, I don’t think it will,” Ben said, “But you can either not talk to Y/N and let things change for worse, or you can go to her and at least see if they’ll change for the better.”

Joe nodded in agreement. “That’s better than doing nothing,” he said.  

“I love her so much,” Gwilym said thickly, and saying it out loud made the weight of the situation even heavier, “And she said she loves me, and I  _left_.”

“Well, to be fair, she asked you to,” Rami said, and Ben and Joe glared at him. Rami held up his hands in defense—what? It was true.

“I should’ve stayed,” Gwilym said; he shook his head and lifted it at last, wiping his eyes. “Should’ve fought for her.”

“You still can!” Joe said encouragingly. He had a way of speaking that was blunt, yet still caring. “This is Y/N we’re talking about, your best friend. Okay? If you’re this upset, that just shows how much you care, and she’s probably feeling the same, if not worse.”

Gwilym nodded; it all made sense hearing this come from his friends, and he knew that you meant far too much to him for him to allow your relationship to deteriorate over one fight, even if it was a bad one. He had half a mind to get up right then and there and head over to your apartment, but he also still felt the possibility of rejection like and insidious knifepoint just pricking his back.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“Then you come back here, we all black out, Frankie calls the ambulance, and we figure out how to deal with it in the morning,” Joe said, and although he was joking, Gwilym’s eyes still widened.

Ben chuckled a bit nervously; he was in no mood to get drunk tonight, and Frankie didn’t have opposable thumbs.

“You’d better make things right with Y/N, mate,” he said.

##  **THAT SAME NIGHT – 9:30 p.m.  
** **Y/N’S APARTMENT**

You frowned, seeing all the messages you had sent Gwilym, but just like you had done to him on the night of the show, now he was the one who wouldn’t reply. You were just still reeling from the fight, and still so embarrassed by what you’d admitted to him. Your only comfort at the moment lay in the text conversation just above his—Lucy knew the night of the show had been rough, and despite your initial protests, she insisted on coming over to keep you company, and offer any advice so long as you were willing to take it.

Now, she sat with you while some old rerun of The Office played on mute in the background, and she’d brought what looked like the entire snack aisle of the supermarket with her.  You were both in your pajamas, drinking sparkling cider and working through a plate of pizza rolls—it was basically the girl’s night you had planned when you invited her over the night of the show, only you knew all too well how that had turned out.  

Truly, though, you were grateful that she’d taken the time to come over. You knew she must be busy, but all you’d had to tell her over text was that you’d fought with Gwilym, and she was practically already in her car and on her way.

“Walk me through it again,” Lucy said as she dipped one of her pizza rolls in Ranch dressing.

“I’ve told you ten times, Lu,” you said with a tired smile.

“I know, I’m just trying to figure this out. So he’s worried he won’t bond with the baby, and you’re worried you’re too attached?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay. I’m not trying to be insensitive but—”

“Yes, the point of just carrying was not to get attached, I know,” you said, frowning.

“Is it that you’re attached to the baby or to him?” Lucy asked with a knowing glance, and that made your heart flip-flop.  The truth was, it was both. You’d fallen not just for Gwilym, but with the idea of actually raising his baby with him. You knew that was selfish in a way, and Gwilym was so excited to be a single dad—in hindsight, it was rude and awfully manipulative of you to tell him through your tears that you couldn’t bear the thought of him raising the baby without you.

“Which is it?” Lucy asked again.

“Both,” you said quietly, then took a deep breath as you prepared to tell Lucy the part of the fight that you’d held back thus far. “Lu…I told him I think I love him.” You expected Lucy to gasp, or maybe jump up in surprise, but she just looked you dead in the eye and cocked her head to one side.

“Well, do you?” she asked simply.

You nodded—there was no point lying.

“Yeah,” you said and blew your nose, feeling a couple of hot tears escape the corners of your eyes. “I think I have for a while, maybe even before the baby. And that just makes it so much harder, because I wish—I wish I could go back in time and say it sooner,” you said. “Things might be different,” you said wistfully.  _The baby might actually be ours._

You looked at Lucy, who gave you a sympathetic look and moved closer on the couch as you started sniffling again.

“Hon, I’m not the one you should be saying all this to,” she said gently, and you knew she was right, but that didn’t make the situation any easier. Lucy could see the pain and confusion in your face–you wanted so badly to just go to Gwilym’s apartment and apologize, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted nothing to do with you after how you’d acted the night of the show.

“Oh, love, come here,” she said, pulling you into a hug. It was a little awkward because of your belly, but Lucy made it work, and she just sat there with you for a moment, absentmindedly smoothing your hair, not even caring that your tears were wetting her crewneck. There was a lot she could say and even more she could ask— _why not just go to his place? Did he say anything back? Why did you make him leave?_ —but she knew that if she just sat where she was long enough, you would elaborate on your own. Lucy would be able to better understand what you felt if it came from you and not after she posed a question. Sure enough, further clarification came in the form of a strained confession.

“I fucked everything up,” you blurted out, “I said I love him, and then I kicked him out—who the hell does that?! What if I ruined things?” you asked desperately, and Lucy shook her head, but you cut in again before she could say anything. “What if I really, really messed up, and he hates me, and never wants to see me again, and he has to raise his daughter and I’m not even a part of his life at  _all_ anymore and she always has to ask ‘why don’t I have a mommy?’ Or—”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” Lucy interrupted, holding up her hand. You closed your mouth immediately, like she’d flipped an off switch, and you both straightened up on the couch cushions. Lucy held you by the shoulders and looked right into your eyes. “Babe. Listen to me. Gwil does not hate you. He could never hate you.”

“I don’t know, Lu, you didn’t see his face the other night,” you whispered.

“I know,” Lucy admitted. “But Y/N—you’ve been best friends for over a decade, and you’ve known him longer than any of us. It would take a lot more than one fight for Gwil to hate you, trust me.”

“You didn’t see his face,” you repeated sadly.

You hadn’t been able to shake the image of Gwilym glaring at you—you could see it clearly, and when you closed your eyes, it only became clearer. You’d never seen him like that—so sad, so angry, so disappointed in you, so confused. You’d had your fair share of spats with him in the past, but they were always over something so stupid, or so small that within hours, you’d already calmed down and gotten back on track. This was different, and there was a hell of a lot more on the line. What if you couldn’t fix it?

“I can’t tell you what to say to him, Y/N, but you need to say something,” Lucy cajoled you, one arms still around your shoulders. “I don’t like seeing my girlie so upset, and I promise you if you talk to Gwil, he’ll listen. You know he will.”

“He hasn’t answered any of my texts, though,” you said sadly, looking at the messages in your phone again.

“Stop that,” Lucy scolded gently, taking your phone from you. “Looking at those won’t help, you’ve got to think of what you can actually do to work things out with him. I think you owe yourself–and him–that much, wouldn’t you say?”

She was right. Lucy was always right. You nodded and gave her a watery smile.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, and I can drive you to his if you’d like,” she said cheerily. “If I were you, I’d start by telling him you love him again…men love that shit,” she laughed, and you managed a weak smile, but it soon wilted into a frown.

“What if I do and he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“Then he’s both an idiot and a liar,” Lucy said definitively. “You’re a catch, and anyone with eyes can see you two are made for each other.”

You weren’t sure if that made you feel better or worse.  Lucy moved to get up and help you to your feet, when suddenly there came a knock at the door.  “Expecting someone?” Lucy asked quizzically.

“Fuck, probably the sink guy,” you said; if it had been a visitor, you’d have heard your buzzer. Besides, you’d called a work order on your faucet handle a week ago—you were only getting cold water for some reason—and they always sent a crew at the worst times. “I can get it.”

“No, you stay where you are, Mama Bear,” Lucy insisted. She got up and gave your hand another squeeze before zig-zagging through your furniture to head towards the door.  You took a deep breath and braced one of your arms under your stomach, mentally preparing yourself to get up if you had to show the plumber what the problem was.  You heard your front door open, heard a bit of hushed chatter, and then it shut again. You let your head loll back against the couch as you heard Lucy coming back around the corner.

“Who was it?” you asked, turning your head to find where Lucy was standing.  When you turned around, though, your heart skipped a beat so fast you felt a burst of nearly white-hot pain in your chest that lingered like a stubborn ember.

“Hey, bear,” Gwilym said softly; he was standing halfway between your kitchen and the living area, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. He looked nervous to be where he was, but very comfortable at the same time, and you stared at him, wide-eyed as he took another step towards you. He’d left his apartment after a bit more encouragement from Ben, Rami, and Joe, but he felt all his trepidation coming back now that he was here.

“How’d you get in?” you asked dumbfoundedly. It wasn’t the smoothest of greetings by any stretch, but it was all you could think of—you hadn’t heard the buzzer. You looked past Gwilym and saw that Lucy’s coat was gone from the hook next to the door. She must have left upon Gwilym’s arrival.

“Got here as one of your neighbors was leaving, so I just came up,” he explained. “Hi,” he said solemnly, looking you right in the eyes.

“Hi.” You slowly got to your feet, your eyes glued to Gwilym as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over one of your bar stools.  He walked over to the couch and paused right in front of you, as if he was unsure whether to sit or stand, stay or go. A few tense moments passed in which you both looked at each other, then at everywhere but each other; the two feet of space between you felt like a vast expanse of desert.

It was so stupid, you suddenly realized, so completely asinine, to stand there in silence across from the man who had been your best friend for so long; you were doing nothing but wasting precious moments when you could be making up for lost time, so finally, after when felt like hours, you tentatively held your arms open towards him.

Gwilym’s lips parted with a soft sigh, and a relieved, urgent expression spread over his face. Without another second of hesitation, he wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders and held you against his chest, his face practically buried in your hair as he held you as snugly as your belly would allow.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Gwilym said, his voice muffled against your shoulder as he held you tighter.

“I know,” you said, mumbling against the soft fabric of Gwilym’s jumper. It was soft and warm and smelled like him, and you’d be perfectly happy if you never left his embrace again. “I’m sorry too,” you choked out, and you broke apart a moment later to see that he had tears in his eyes too.  “For everything.”

“No, I am,” Gwilym said ardently, “I hurt you, Y/N, I don’t think I can ever forgive mys—”

You shook your head, still half-holding Gwilym around the waist, and slowly rubbed your arms up and down on his sides. “We both messed up,” you said, and Gwilym nodded with an apologetic frown. “I missed you,” you added meekly, and Gwilym’s face softened.

“Can we talk about things, for real this time?” he asked gently. “No shouting, just us?”

You nodded and you both sat down on the couch; your breath caught in your throat as you realized just how close he was sitting, but in all honesty, you’d much rather have close proximity than the immense, gaping distance—both literal and figurative—that there was between you the last time Gwilym was at your apartment.

“I’ll go first,” Gwilym said with a deep breath. “I’m sorry I lied about the show. That was really, really unfair of me to do. I wish I’d taken you—I didn’t realize that by not doing that, I’d be hurting you as much as I did,” he said.  “And I’m sorry I told you to shut up when we were arguing, I was out of line.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, but you nodded. “Thanks,” you said in a small voice.  You weren’t quite ready to forgive Gwilym yet, but it was a start. “I’m sorry I went out with Pete,” you said, and Gwilym’s jaw twitched, but he forced a smile.

“So that’s his name, huh,” he said lowly, and you nodded, wiping a stray tear from your eye.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Gwil, I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already told him there won’t be another.” That was true–you’d called Pete the day after the date to tell him you were grateful, but that on second thought you probably shouldn’t go out with coworkers. To Pete’s credit, he took it well.

“That actually does help, yeah,” Gwilym laughed. “But, Y/N…some of the other things I said, I’m not sorry for, and I don’t think you should have to apologize for a lot of what you said, either. You’re right, I’ve been really quiet about what we’re doing, because I’m not used to having so many eyes on me and the last thing I want is people getting obsessed with my child before she’s even born,” he said.

You felt yourself automatically starting to close off, but Gwilym wasn’t finished.

“But,” he said, “I never meant to make you feel like I was embarrassed by you, or unhappy with how things were turning out. I’m not, not at all. If you want, I think we can find some kind of middle ground where that’s concerned. I could not be happier this little one’s on her way, and you’re right, it is something to be celebrated.”

“I’d like that,” you said softly. “I don’t want you to think you need to share everything, of course not,” you emphasized, “but it’d be nice to have it out there, you know? I think in the long run, that would cause less of an uproar than if you just somehow had a baby one day.”

Gwilym nodded; that was a good point. “Okay. Alright, that’s fair. We can figure that out.”

“I’m sorry I asked you if you were happy she was coming,” you said after a moment’s pause. “I shouldn’t have questioned that no matter how angry I was.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Gwilym admitted, “But I forgive you.”

“Speaking of her coming,” you said hesitantly after a moment’s pause, “Do you really feel like you aren’t bonding with her? Because we can work on that, Gwil, I mean it. I can come over more often, you can read to her, sing to her—we can work on that.”

Gwilym started to tear up; that had been one of the biggest things he wanted to talk to you about—he wasn’t proud of the way he’d handled it on the night of the show, but the lack of connection he felt to the baby was a big concern of his, and he didn’t want to just ‘apologize’ it away.

“Really?” he said softly.

“I promise,” you said with a smile, then took his hand in yours and placed it on your stomach. “Starting right now, more baby time. I think we could all use it.  That way when she’s born we know for sure she’ll recognize your voice, everything. You’ll be all ready to meet each other.”

Your smile faltered when you mentioned the birth, and Gwilym noticed right away.

“You said it would hurt to see me raise her,” Gwilym said. “Why?” He had a feeling he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from you.

You took a deep breath and looked into Gwilym’s eyes, searching them thoroughly; they were a deep blue today, and shining with concern.

“Gwil, please know, I didn’t go into this thinking I’d feel this way,” you started to explain, “I thought carrying for you would be easy—not something to take lightly, of course, but not as emotionally draining as it’s turned out to be.”

“What do you mean, Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—it’s so selfish,” you said, your voice shaking.

“It’s not,” Gwilym assured you, and he put one arm behind you, resting it on the back of the sofa, “Please tell me, I need to hear it.”

“It’s just,” you said, biting your lip for a moment to stop it shaking, “It’s just that watching and feeling her grow has made me feel so much more love than I thought was possible. I didn’t plan that, at all, I swear, Gwil—but going through this, and—God, I don’t know if maybe if it was a donor egg I’d feel differently, but—”

“But she’s yours,” Gwilym finished for you.

“Not just that she’s mine, but she’s mine with you,” you finished, and Gwilym took a deep breath; he felt a rush of emotion deep in his chest. You’d put into words what he’d also been feeling—that seeing you grow with his baby inside you and knowing she’d be a perfect mix of the two of you, made him fall more and more in love with you every day. It hurt him just as much to think that after the baby was born, he wouldn’t have you along for the ride. But maybe, if what you had said the other night was true…maybe it didn’t have to be that way.

“What you said before you asked me to leave,” Gwilym began, his heart thumping, “Did you mean it?”

You’d been dreading this question, even though you knew from the second he showed up at the apartment that he would ask it. You instinctively looked away and tried to cover your eyes with one hand, but Gwilym gently hooked a finger under your chin and tilted your face so you were looking up at him.

“Did you mean it?” He asked ever so quietly, his blue eyes boring into yours as he waited breathlessly for you to answer.

You couldn’t speak, so you simply nodded. You moved your head almost imperceptibly at first, but then nodded faster, overcome with a sudden need to be honest.  Gwilym let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and rubbed his jaw. His heart was beating a mile a minute—you could practically hear it—and he felt like it had leapt up to somewhere in his throat.

“You think you love me?” he said hoarsely, and you nodded once more. “You think, or you know?”

“I know,” you finally admitted, and even though you felt like you might be sick, putting it out in the open felt like someone had just opened a window and let in a gust of fresh air.  “I can’t keep pretending I don’t,” you said, your voice strangled with unshed tears. “And when I realized it, I couldn’t say anything because,” you choked back a sob and Gwilym shifted where he sat, his eyebrows furrowed so deeply they were almost touching, “because you said way back at the start that you wanted to be a single dad, and I didn’t want you to think I was trapping you, or trying to make you feel obligated to keep me around, or—” you couldn’t go on, but luckily you didn’t have to.

Gwilym pulled you into his arms again and kissed the top of your head, slowly rocking you. He tried to put every emotion he could into that embrace, and it wasn’t until you pulled away from him that he spoke.

“I didn’t say I wanted to be a single dad, bear,” he said with a pained smile as he brushed your hair back, “I just hadn’t found anyone to raise a child with,” he explained. “I was prepared to do it on my own, but having someone, having a partner in it all was always to ideal situation, you know, the kind of future I always wanted. I just didn’t think it was in the cards for me, but—”

“But what?” you asked; you didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“But seeing you carry this baby has changed all of that,” he said in a whisper, “I can see that partner, and that future in you—I could see it from the moment we found out you were pregnant, Y/N…I just didn’t want to tell you because I said at the start I would never try to force you to be a mum. But then you said the other night—you were crying over the thought of not being a part of the baby’s life, and—”

“What are you saying?” you asked shakily; you didn’t dare take your eyes off him.

“I’m saying I really, really hoped you did mean it,” Gwilym said, his voice warm and smooth; you were very glad you were sitting down, because you felt lightheaded. “I’m saying I think I love you back, bear…and if you want to be a part of Nugget’s life, then I want that too.”

He’d said what you wanted to hear for months, what you thought there was no possible way he could feel for you, and yet, there the words were, hanging in the air between you like the acrid, yet somehow delicious smell of a recently struck match.

“You think or you know?” You couldn’t help but mimic what he’d said earlier, and Gwilym laughed softly; it was a beautiful laugh, a real one, one that made the skin around his eyes crinkle and the light dance in his irises.

“I know,” he said with certainty, taking your hand in his. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you managed to squeak out. You’d cried so much in the last 72 hours that you were surprised there was any tears left, but at least this time the tears that fell down your cheeks were born from happiness, relief, and love. You fell into Gwilym’s arms as well as a woman who was seven months pregnant could, and you were dimly aware of the way he stroked your hair, and placed soft kisses on your head as you just held each other.  It wasn’t rushed and it felt so natural that you got completely lost in each other, and it felt as though it could have been minutes, hours, maybe even days before you broke apart.

Gwilym pressed his forehead against yours and rested one hand on the nape of your neck.

“I have a question,” he said, searching your eyes with his; he knew them so well already, but wanted to memorize the way they looked in this moment.

“I have an answer,” you replied.

“Can I k–?” he started to ask, and you nodded before he could even finish the sentence. “Okay, eager beaver,” he teased, although he was just as impatient as you were. He shifted on the couch and took your right hand in his left. “You’re not going to stop me again, are you?”

“Go for it and find out,” you smiled, and Gwilym beamed– _there_ you were,  _there_ was his Y/N.

He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth once more before finally, after so many months of longing, he leaned in and closed the gap between you. Then, he was kissing you–really, properly kissing you.  It was soft and tentative at first, everything that a first kiss should be, and the way his lips moved with yours was so natural that even though you’d never felt something like this before, it was absolutely, completely comfortable. Your mind was a stream of excited profanities and general screaming, and you savored every second of it, every fluttered heartbeat, everything as you reached over and put your hands on his chest. You lightly tugged at his sweater and pulled him close with a sharp intake of breath before your lips met again.

Gwilym let out the softest moan you had ever heard and you parted your lips just slightly to test the waters. You didn’t want to move too fast; you wanted to savor the taste of him, the way you sometimes bumped noses, the heat of his hand resting on your thigh.  You already knew that this would be one of those memories that, even decades from now, would be tantalizingly visceral.

When at last you pulled back for air, Gwilym leaned forward, intent on kissing you more. You gave him another lingering peck and smiled against his lips; it felt so new yet so familiar at the same time, and you could swear your heart had never been so full.

“I mean it, Y/N,” Gwilym said once you pulled away again.

“Mean what?” you chided with a smile.

“You know,” he said with a playful roll of his eyes, then faked surprise. “ _Oh_ , you want to hear it!”

You nodded and ruffled Gwilym’s hair. You both laughed and then his face became more serious, more intense.

“I love you,” he said again.  _God, you’d never tire of hearing that_.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and Gwilym looked so enraptured by you that you couldn’t help but shy away a little, that is, until Gwilym cupped your cheek in one hand and gave you another chaste kiss.

“Seriously, he said afterwards. “I love you more than anyone in this world. Well, except maybe Rosie, but you can’t blame me there,” he chuckled, and put a hand on your belly.  You looked up to meet his eyes, which were warm and overflowing with love, and put your hand over his.

“Rosie?” you asked breathlessly. Gwilym nodded, a loving smile on his face.

“Do you like it? It just came to me a couple of weeks ago when I was at the grocery store getting things to make a salad, and now I can’t think of anything else. Rhosyn for my nan, it’s Welsh, and Rosie for short. It’s pretty, not  _too_ hard to spell,” he chuckled, thinking of his own name. “She’ll be able to find Rosie on most key chains, but it’s not common, either. And there won’t be a ton of kids with the same name in her classes, so—”

“You chose your daughter’s name while you were in the produce aisle?” you couldn’t help but laugh–that was so endearing and so typically Gwilym. It made your heart melt, and he blushed a little bit, grinning.

“Our daughter,” he said, and you drew in a sharp breath. “If you want.”

“I love it,” you said with a genuine smile, cupping Gwilym’s face in your hands. “I love it, I love it, I love you.”

“Really?” he asked hopefully, with a soft smile on his face. You nodded and he grinned widely, taking your hands in his. He brought them down to his lap and smiled at the way your fingers so naturally wove through his.

“What about a middle name?” you asked him. Gwilym looked up at you and brushed his right thumb across your cheek.

“I want you to choose that,” he said, and your heart leapt. “Whatever you want. Something for your family, your last name, or just a name you like, anything. Mum’s choice.”

 _Mum’s choice. Oh my God._  

You knew this wasn’t the end to little spats and arguments, and you knew that you’d have to have a few more talks before everything from the fight you’d had was one hundred percent resolved. However, this was a giant leap in the direction that it turned out you both wanted things to go after all. Finally, you could more forward and be freely, unapologetically excited for the baby–for Rhosyn–to arrive.  For the first time, you were truly excited to meet her.

Gwilym sniffled and you noticed he was getting emotional again, so you put a thumb in your sweater sleeve and gently dabbed at his eye, then cupped his cheek again, feeling his stubble and the warmth of his flushed cheeks. You smiled and pulled Gwilym in for one more kiss–another one of what you had a feeling would be many, many more to come.

##  **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

##  **I hope this made up for the angst last week–you all got a Valentine’s kiss <3 **

##  **I’d love to hear your thoughts! I’d also love to know, what middle name would you pick for Rhosyn???**

##  **I love you all so much and I can’t wait for next week <3**


	10. Chapter 10

##  **NOVEMBER 22 – ABOUT 29 WEEKS**

You were starting to run out of maternity clothes—not that anyone really noticed when you repeated an outfit, but  _you_ noticed. Considering that you were well into the third trimester, the littlest thing could make you feel off for the whole day. Today, that little thing was being unable to choose between your gray maternity sweater and your red one. You felt like you’d been living in them both and desperately wanted to feel even just a little bit fashionable again.

“We’re going to be late,” Gwilym called from out in your kitchen.

He’d arrived ten minutes ago to pick you up for another doctor’s visit, but since you weren’t ready, you’d just let him up to the apartment to wait. Now, you were still indecisive about what to wear, and he sat twiddling his thumbs on the counter.  _Huh, twiddling his thumbs and apparently making himself breakfast,_ you thought, noticing the smell of slightly burned bread. You poked your head out from your bedroom door and blew a raspberry down the hall. Gwilym laughed in response and a moment later, as you were wrestling a plain black tank top over your head, he came into the bedroom chewing on a piece of toast. 

“Sexy,” Gwilym commented from where he stood leaning against the doorway, one eyebrow raised as he watched you accidentally mistake an armhole for where your head should go.

“Oh!” you gasped, immediately trying to cover yourself, “Don’t scare me like that, you’re going to send me into early labor!” you scolded him, smoothing your shirt down when you finally got the damn thing on.

“Maybe that’s the goal,” he said casually, and you shot him a look.

“I’m not trying to spend weeks in the NICU, babe,” you told him, though you knew he was only joking. No, as fed up as you were with boring clothes and pregnancy pains, you’d be perfectly content if Rosie stayed right where she was until she was good and ready. You should still be on track to have her when she was expected; at today’s check-up with Dr. Harrison, you’d be able to ask just that, as well as a few other questions you had on your mind.

“I know, I’m just excited,” Gwilym gushed, coming to stand behind you in front of your dresser.  He held his toast between his teeth as he wrapped his arms around you, resting them on your belly. You looked at your reflections for a moment, then you sighed and leaned your head back so it rested against Gwilym’s chest and closed your eyes. You were tuckered out just from trying to get dressed, but you still had the whole day ahead of you.

“Ooh, thank you,” you said teasingly a moment later, and reached up to take the toast from his mouth. You took a bite of it yourself and he chuckled, pressing small kisses below your ear, along your cheek, and then on your lips when you turned your head towards him.

“C’mon,” he said, brushing a toast crumb off the corner of your mouth before kissing you again, “It’s almost ten, we’ve got to get going.” He let go of you and then knelt down to kiss your belly—he then snatched the toast right back with a grin, much to your dismay.

“I’ll be right out, promise,” you said, and Gwilym gave you a look as if to say ‘I’ll hold you to that!’ before he headed back out towards your kitchen to grab his keys. “Hey, Gwil,” you added as he left the room.

He popped back in with an expectant smile. “Yeah?”

“Please, uh…if you could try not to walk in when I’m changing, I—that’d be nice,” you said sadly; you didn’t really mind that he’d seen you in only your bra and leggings just now, you just weren’t feeling all that cute with all the baby weight going on and you wanted to choose if, when, and how much of you he saw.

Gwilym’s face fell a little, but he smiled and nodded. “Roger that,” he said brightly. “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, then turned back to the mirror once he’d gone. In truth, you wanted—wanted  _badly_ —for him to take his time removing every piece of your clothing, kissing everywhere he could, seeing every inch of you. But, as much as you loved having Rhosyn growing inside you and even though Gwilym still looked at you like you held the moon and stars in your hands, the pregnancy books weren’t kidding about the insecurities that could crop up, especially this far along.

Even more unfair was the fact that those insecurities came hand-in-hand with almost constant arousal. It was truly maddening; you felt simultaneously  _blah_ yet also unbearably horny, but since you were still hesitant to let Gwilym in in that way, there wasn’t an awful lot you could do about it. Your body ached for his touch, but mentally you just weren’t quite ready for it yet.

It had only been a few weeks since you’d admitted your feelings to each other; essentially, three weeks or so since you decided to be together. It was wonderful, finally being able to just love him freely. Plus, no longer having a web of conflicting feelings spun between the two of you made life ten times easier. Since that night, Gwilym insisted on taking you out on a string of dates (“I’ve got to make up for all the ones I could’ve taken you on!”), and you had a lot of fun just getting used to being romantic with each other. It really wasn’t a difficult transition at all.  

You’d been best friends for so long that after all the pain and honesty born from the fight had sunk in and you’d learned from it, it had just felt natural to be with him.  You quickly settled into a routine—you still had work, and Gwilym often had promotional interviews or the occasional audition to get to during the week—but you saw each other as much as possible, and you were always each other’s priority on the weekends, when you were both free. You’d become a steady couple quickly, and couldn’t be happier about it.

Your friends were…well, to say they were supportive was accurate, but more than anything, they were just relieved. “ _Finally_ ” had seemed to be the general consensus when you told Lucy, the guys, and your other close friends that you and Gwilym had quite literally kissed and made up. Joe had actually stood and applauded when you all met for lunch and told him, and Lucy was especially relieved—she apologized profusely for “leaving your apartment faster than a speeding bullet, I just had a feeling you two needed to be alone that night!”

It was easy, loving him. Gwilym radiated comfort and warmth; being around him just felt like being home. It always had, but now it was like home, plus kisses. However, kissing was about all you’d shared with him; the physical side of things moved along much slower than you had a feeling it would have if you weren’t pregnant, but neither of you wanted to push it.  Gwilym had spent the night at your apartment a couple of times since you first kissed, and that made your heart feel fuller than ever before. You loved hearing his breathing (and occasional snoring) at night and feeling him curled up next to you with one hand draped over you, resting on your stomach.

A couple of times, kissing had started to drift towards something more intense and more intimate, but you hadn’t had sex. You always stopped before things got that far. You knew Gwilym wanted to, but he’d also never pressure you, ever. You wanted to too, really wanted to, but you hesitated to initiate anything—it was difficult to rationalize why, and when you tried to explain it to Lucy, you knew you weren’t making any sense. She didn’t understand how the two of you were so in love, and how you were turned on by everything from movie scenes to macaroni, yet you hadn’t had sex with Gwilym yet. You asked yourself the same thing and tried to make excuses to yourself—too tired, too achy, too pregnant—but truth be told, it was more of a mental block than anything.

What was more, you didn’t want to risk hurting Rosie because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, even as small a possibility as that was.

“Y/N!” Gwilym called again, shaking his keys so they jingled, “You’ve got ten seconds to get your pregnant arse out here,” he joked, and you snapped out of your thoughts. Shaking your head with a smile, you grabbed your bag off the bed, smoothed your hair out one last time, and tried to push down your annoyance at your sweater. You’d settled on putting the red one on over your tank top, and you’d dressed it up with a pendant necklace and some earrings, but you still felt blander than white bread.  _Pregnancy glow, my ass_ , you thought.

“Three…two…” Gwilym teased, looking at his watch as you came into the kitchen. “Phew, I almost left without you,” he said with a dorky grin.

“Going to the baby doctor without the baby, that makes sense,” you teased, and Gwilym rolled his eyes jokingly. He then stepped back to look you up and down, a soft smile on his face.

“You look really nice,” he said honestly, his eyes lighting up as he reached down and toyed with the cuff of the sweater. “I like this on you.”

He kissed the top of your head, and just like that, waterworks. Your hormones had been out of control lately, and Gwilym’s simple, genuine compliment meant more to you than words could ever say.  You started crying in the middle of the kitchen, all because your boyfriend—you still weren’t used to calling him that, but boy, did you like the sound of it—had said you looked  _nice_. When you felt anything  _but_ nice.  God, he was a keeper.

“Aw, love,” Gwilym said, passing you a tissue, “I’m sorry, shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s okay,” you squeaked out, managing a smile as you dabbed at your eyes, “Thank you,” you sniffed, and you truly meant it. “Let’s get going, I’m fine, I’ll stop crying on the way, I promise,” you laughed, and as if his compliment wasn’t endearing enough already, Gwilym gave you a light tap on the behind as he held the apartment door open for you. Your mind immediately jumped to when Nemo ‘touched the butt,’ and at the thought of children’s movies, you were bawling all over again.

By some miracle—a miracle in the form of a vanilla shake from McDonald’s on the way to the doctor’s office—you managed to compose yourself by the time Dr. Harrison called you in.  Gwilym helped you up and you walked down the hall for yet another of the now bi-weekly checkups you had to go to.

“Good morning!” Dr. Harrison said cheerfully as he entered the examination room. You straightened up where you sat on the table and smiled, happy to see him. You weren’t crazy about doctor’s offices, but Dr. Harrison was good at getting things done quickly, and he was always accessible. As your checkups became more frequent, you and Gwilym had grown much more comfortable with the doctor. If you’d wanted, you could have switched back to your regular OBGYN after you got pregnant, but you felt that just because of the circumstances, it’d be best to have consistency.

You knew the drill and purposely hadn’t peed before you left—sure enough, Dr. Harrison pulled one of the sample cups from a drawer on the counter and put it on the table next to his chair.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked calmly as he took your vitals. “Any pain or unusual discomfort?”

“Nope,” you said, “She’s still kickboxing in there and I’ve got the same back ache I’ve had for months now, but nothing else, really. My feet fall asleep sometimes,” you said uncertainly; you had noticed that all it took was a few minutes in a certain position before you started feeling pins and needles. You weren’t sure if it was worth mentioning, but decided it was better to say it and have it be nothing than the other way around.

“Hmm,” the doctor said as he started unpacking the cup for your routine urine sample. “How often, would you say?”

“It’s not all the time,” you said. “Mostly just if I’ve been sitting for a while.”

Dr. Harrison nodded. “That’s not uncommon; your body’s changing and naturally, blood flow can get cut off where it never did before due to bloating, weight gain, just sitting strangely—any number of things.  No numbness?”

“No,” you said quietly; you felt your heart sink a little bit when he’d said  _weight gain_ ; you’d noticed that happening a bit, and not just around your belly. Hearing it confirmed didn’t feel good at all, even though you knew it was a completely natural part of pregnancy.

Gwilym noticed how you’d gotten quiet and furrowed his brow, looking at you with concern, but you were picking your thumbnail and didn’t see it.

“Not numb,” you said, “Just tingly.”

“Make it a habit to stretch your legs out a few times a day, really take time to do it,” Dr. Harrison advised. “Especially when you’re at work, since you’re at your desk so much. Don’t sit in the same position for too long, and if you feel you’re starting to lose feeling, if this one’s around, make him give you a foot rub,” Dr. Harrison said, jerking his thumb at Gwilym with a grin.

You perked up and nodded, giving Gwilym a mischievous look, and he made a playful ‘yikes’ face—you already knew you were going to use this advice to your advantage.  _Constant massages? What? Doctor’s orders!_

“I’m on it,” Gwilym said immediately, and reached over to tap your foot to prove his point. He gave you a sweet smile and you held out your hand for him to take. He did so, and squeezed it.

Dr. Harrison did a couple more run of the mill tests, like listening to your heartbeat, then Rosie’s—all was normal, and even though you had no reason to think it would be otherwise, you sighed in relief.

“I’d like you to give a urine sample so we can check in and look for any warning signs,” Dr. Harrison said. You nodded; it was a hassle to pee in a cup without dropping it into the toilet because you couldn’t see over your stomach, but you knew it was necessary. It was important to keep an eye out for any abnormal hormone levels or kidney infections. “When you get back, we’ll do your TDAP.”

“That’s today?” you said shakily; you already knew the answer, but you didn’t like it. You  _hated_ shots.

“Today,” Dr. Harrison confirmed, and you sighed. You knew the TDAP shot wasn’t optional, since the things it stood for—tetanus, diphtheria, pertussis—were things you wanted to protect Rosie from at all costs. Still, you struggled to even get a flu shot, and weren’t happy about having this one sprung on you.

“Alright,” you relented.

“I’ll hold your hand,” Gwilym teased you, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Here’s this,” Dr. Harrison said, and handed you the sample cup along with a paper bag for privacy and you nodded. Gwilym got up to help you off the table and got the door for you so you could head down the hall to the bathroom.

Once the door had shut, Gwilym sat back down and turned in his chair to face Dr. Harrison.

“While she’s in there, can I ask you something?” Gwilym said softly.

“Of course,” Dr. Harrison nodded and put down his clipboard. Gwilym nodded and scratched his cheek, looking a bit perplexed.

“It’s just—I think lately Y/N hasn’t really felt like herself. She doesn’t really say it, but I can tell. You mentioned bloating and I know that’s all normal, but the past couple days she’s kind of lost her spark, if that makes sense. I was just wondering if that’s something that’ll pass on its own, or if I should do more to, you know, let her know she’s still got it,” he said affectionately.

Dr. Harrison smiled softly, the skin around his eyes crinkling along his age lines.

“It will pass,” he said, “But if you want my honest advice, as a dad of three myself…just listen to her. If she’s upset, let her be upset. If she wants a hug even though you’ve given her ten, make it eleven. You’re her best friend,” he said, and Gwilym’s heart skipped a beat—he’d forgotten the doctor didn’t know that now he was more than that— “And I’m sure she’ll appreciate a compliment here and there, but I’ve learned sometimes it’s best to just have an open ear,” the doctor said wisely, and Gwilym nodded. It wasn’t so much medical advice as it was just a few tips and tricks, but it made sense. Still, he thought of how much you’d appreciated his compliment earlier and made a note to slip more of those in.

“I wanted to ask something else, too,” Gwilym said after a moment’s pause. He didn’t know how long it would take you to get back from the bathroom and there wasn’t enough time to fully explain that you and he had become a couple since the last time you saw the doctor, so he just jumped right into the question itself.

“She’s past seven months, and I’ve looked up a bit online, but—is it safe for us to…be intimate at this point?” Gwilym asked. The two of you had only really talked about sex in passing, usually in the form of a joke or hypothetical, but if you were open to it, he definitely would be too. Knowing if it was safe or not would certainly help should you get to that point.

Dr. Harrison looked politely confused.

“I wasn’t aware that the two of you were together, given the way you went about things,” he said; Gwilym nodded. “Not that your personal life—beyond the baby, anyway—is my business, but have things changed in that regard?”

“Yeah,” Gwilym said with a smile, “It turns out the little one’s brought her and I together, but only recently. We haven’t discussed anything physical much; I just wanted to know whether, if we  _do_ do that, if it would be safe to. I’m sorry to ask something so personal, but I thought it’d be best to check.”

Dr. Harrison smiled, shook his head, and took off his glasses, buffing them on the collar of his lab coat.  

“No need be sorry, Mr. Lee, it’s a common concern. So long as you’re careful, intercourse won’t be an issue. This may not be the time to try anything new and exciting, though,” he said with an inflection that was hard to miss.

Gwilym couldn’t help but laugh to himself. Since you two had never slept together  _everything_ would be new and exciting, but he understood what Dr. Harrison meant.

“Well, I don’t know if we’re even going to, that’s completely up to Y/N, but—” Gwilym started to explain, but Dr. Harrison cut him off with a knowing glance.

“But just in case,” he said. “You want to be sure, I understand.”

“Just in case,” Gwilym said with a nod. “It won’t hurt the baby? Or Y/N?”

“They’ll be just fine,” the doctor assured him, and Gwilym nodded thankfully as he sat back in his chair.

Just as they finished their conversation, you re-entered the room with the paper bag and handed it off to Dr. Harrison as discreetly as possible.

“Wonderful, thank you,” he said. “We’ll have those results to you by the end of the day, and we’ll call you back in immediately if the lab sees anything concerning. Now, the fun part,” he said dryly, and you bit your lip worriedly as he reached for the syringe.  You breathed in deep and took your sweater off halfway so your non-dominant arm was exposed.

Gwilym, as promised, held your hand as Dr. Harrison administered the TDAP shot. You felt him clean your skin with a cotton ball and rubbing alcohol, but then Gwilym squeezed your hand and started talking to you about the set of curtains he’d just bought for the nursery, and you didn’t even feel the pinch from the needle.

You definitely felt the soreness after, though, and made a mental note to pick up a bag of frozen peas to use as an ice pack later.  _Yowch._

“Sorry about that,” Dr. Harrison said as he put a Band-Aid over the pinprick. “But I didn’t want to wait until your next appointment; that’d be a little too close to your due date for comfort. And speaking of which, unless any extenuating circumstance comes up, which I don’t foresee, you’re right on track.”

“Still the end of January?” you asked.

Dr. Harrison nodded. “January 23rd, to be exact,” he said. “And you’d still like to give birth vaginally, is that correct?”

“Yes,” you and Gwilym said at the same time. 

“Well, Y/N would,” Gwilym said, a bit embarrassed.  You stifled a giggle and instead just reached over to squeeze his shoulder. The two of you had decided that while at the time, getting pregnant artificially was fine, you wanted Rhosyn to come into the world naturally.

“Unless there’s a medical reason for another method, of course,” Gwilym added, and you nodded.  “But there shouldn’t be, right?”

“No, that’s highly unlikely, this is a low-risk pregnancy to begin with,” the doctor said comfortingly. “And I’m sure you’ve done your research, but natural birth is typically safer than, say, a Cesarean. Especially considering the fact that this is your first child.”

You involuntarily shuddered at that C-word; as intimidating as the thought of having Rosie naturally was, you were much more apprehensive of a surgery and didn’t want to take that route unless absolutely necessary. You and Gwilym had watched one video of the procedure out of curiosity, both of you started getting queasy, and that was the end of  _that_. Besides, you knew your body was built for childbirth; it wouldn’t do it if it couldn’t. Actually, speaking of what your body could and couldn’t do…

“Gwil, hon, could you go sign us out?” you asked suddenly, and although he looked a bit surprised, Gwilym nodded and headed out of the room to get started on signing out and picking a date for the next appointment in a couple weeks.

Dr. Harrison raised his eyebrows at you once Gwilym had left.

“Is there something you’d like to ask before you get on your way?” Dr. Harrison asked warmly.

“Actually, yes,” you said. You felt bad about sending Gwilym out, but you wanted to ask this particular question first, then bring it up with him later.  Although you felt a bit odd about what you were about to ask, you reminded yourself that this kind of thing was just part of Dr. Harrison’s job—nothing was too much. 

“Can we have sex?” you blurted out. “Not  _us_ , obviously, no offense,” you amended quickly, realizing how that had sounded. Dr. Harrison chuckled and bowed his head. “What I mean is, is it safe for me and Gwil to have sex if we want to?” you finished, your face hot. You only grew more embarrassed when you thought about how embarrassed you were to  _be_ embarrassed to ask your own doctor such a basic question. 

Dr. Harrison smiled, amused that both of you had asked him the same thing separately. He figured it was best not to mention that, and instead he pushed his glasses up higher onto the bridge of his nose.  Since he’d gotten to know you rather well over the months, he decided a bit of teasing might be in order.

“What happened to ‘if we were going to have sex, it would have happened already?’” he joked, and you chuckled, remembering what you’d said during the consultation in his office so many months ago.

“You got me there, Doc,” you said, wagging a finger at him, then your expression softened and you rested a hand on the top of your belly. “She happened. We decided to give the whole Mum and Dad thing a go.”

“I’m very happy for you,” Dr. Harrison said genuinely, “And there is no reason for the two of you to avoid penetrative intercourse,” he said, and although you cringed inwardly at his choice of words, you breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re not going to harm the baby in any way—there’s no reason why you can’t have sex. Keep weight off your stomach as much as possible, of course, that’ll be most comfortable for you, but otherwise you’re in the clear.”

“Weight off my stomach, I can do that,” you said, your heart already racing. So you could have sex if you wanted. Now you just had to get over your own trepidation—you knew there was no reason for it, that Gwilym would love you no matter what your body looked like—but it was still a hurdle.

“Yes,” Dr. Harrison said, turning in his chair and scooting over to the counter; there was a rack of brochures there that he started flicking through. “I might have a pamphlet here with some suggested positions…” he said, browsing.

_Oh Lord._

“You know, that’s okay, I think we can figure out—” you started to say, not too keen on getting a Kama Sutra lesson from your doctor.

“Ah! Here we are,” Dr. Harrison said. He’d found what he was looking for and passed you a small leaflet covered in bright pink font; its front page was mostly taken up by some poor graphic design intern’s attempt at a logo. You tilted your head to look at what appeared to be an abstract art version of a couple—one of them a very pregnant woman—having sex. Picasso would be proud.

“Thanks,” you said awkwardly, still feeling a bit strange about basically asking the doctor for permission to have sex with your own boyfriend. However, you felt much better knowing you had the green light.

Just then, Gwilym knocked and poked his head back the room, and you nearly got a paper cut from how fast you shoved the brochure deep into your purse.

“We’re all set,” Gwilym said, and you stood with a nod. You both thanked the doctor on the way out, and left hand-in-hand, feeling excited and giddy.

Once you’d gotten back to Gwilym’s car and buckled in, he started the ignition but didn’t start driving yet. He turned to you and leaned across the console for a kiss, then patted your bump.

“Any chance you two want to have dinner tonight?” He asked, clearly amused by his little ‘you two’ joke. “I’ve got a call I’m expecting sometime this afternoon, but you could come over a little later on. I’ll cook!”

“Sure,” you said happily, your stomach already growling at the thought of Gwilym’s cooking; it was always delicious. “Anything important? The call, I mean.”

“Yeah, actually,” Gwilym said. “I’m supposed to hear about that audition I had last weekend, but they’ve got to tell my agent first, then he’ll call me and tell me if I got it.”

“The HBO one?”  You asked, thinking back to when he’d first told you about it. That was another good thing about being together—you’d both gotten much better about communication and letting each other know what was going on in your lives.

“Yep.”

“Exciting!” you said, rubbing your hands together quickly to warm them up. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” you said, and Gwilym smiled over at you.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear from his agent—the show was some new crime drama set in 1700s France (or was it England?) and filming wouldn’t start until after Rosie was born. He was also told it would be intermittent shooting for his scenes as opposed to weeks or months straight, so wouldn’t ever be away for more than a few days in a row.  Still, there was a chance the character he’d read for could be upgraded to ‘recurring’ if the first season did well, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It would mean a more hectic schedule, more time away, more late nights on set. Still, he knew it would be a good opportunity, and he would have a grace period after getting the call to decide if he wanted to role, should they offer it.

“Dinner it is, then,” said Gwilym as he put the car in reverse and began backing out, one hand braced against your seat as he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll pick you up.”

“I can still drive, babe,” you said, although it was sweet of him to always offer to drive you.

“Nope. Well, yes, I know you  _can_ , but…precious cargo,” he said fondly, and your heart just about melted.

“Alright, Sir Lancelot,” you teased. Gwilym looked confused, so you clarified with a sarcastic addition of, “My knight in shining armor.”

“Always will be,” he replied, and you shrugged your coat up around your chin to hide just how hard you were cheesing.

##  **LATER THAT NIGHT**

If you thought your stomach was huge before, it was nothing compared to how stuffed you felt after not one, but two helpings of the absolute feast Gwilym had made.  If he weren’t an actor, you were convinced he could be a chef; he’d made— _made_ , not bought—zucchini noodles, seasoned them to absolute perfection, then served them up with sweet potatoes, a Caesar salad, buttered rolls, and fucking  _infused water_.  If you didn’t know that he just loved going all-out, you’d think it was some special occasion.  

Once you’d finished washing the dishes together, you sat on the couch with a mug of tea, waiting for Gwilym to come over so you could pick a movie.

“Hey you,” you said once he sat down. 

You set your tea on the side table then curled up against him; he bowed his head, capturing your lips with his. No matter how many times Gwilym kissed you or you kissed him, you were convinced you’d never grow tired of it. The beautiful pressure of his lips against yours still felt like pleasurable fire, and you sighed into his kiss, opening your mouth just enough for his to sweep his tongue across your bottom lip. Your heart was already racing—you felt like a high schooler from how giddy you got just from a kiss—and you nearly whined when Gwilym pulled away a moment later.

“Why’d you stop?” you said breathlessly.

“Because,” Gwilym said, as if that was an answer.  He took a deep breath and pulled his phone out from his pocket, twirling it in his hand.  Your eyes widened in realization as he looked down at the small device, but didn’t say anything.

“You got the part,” you said softly, looking up at him in the dim light.

Gwilym nodded and looked at you. You were searching his eyes for something that would tell you what he’d decided, but he looked simultaneously happy and sad at the same time, so you couldn’t tell.

“That’s great,” you said enthusiastically, and you meant it. The show he’d auditioned for was already one of next year’s most anticipated, and would no doubt be an excellent career move.  

“When does filming start?” you asked.

“I turned it down,” Gwilym said at the same time.

“What?” you asked, truly shocked.

“I’m not taking it,” Gwilym told you. “Dan was pissed, but I knew what my answer would be as soon as I picked up the phone.”

“Gwilym,” you said seriously, sitting up on the couch and looking him right in the eye, “Why? It’s supposed to be the best new—”

“I know. I don’t care,” Gwilym said lovingly. “I don’t want to be away from you for even a second—either of you. There’ll be other roles down the road, but for right now, you’re my priority, you and Rosie,” he said.

“Gwil—” you said, overcome with love for him.

“There’s something else, too,” he said, and this time he unlocked his phone and turned the brightness down as low as it could go to spare both your eyes. “I want to tell the fans about Rosie,” he said, and you actually gasped.

“N-now?” you stammered.

“If it’s alright with you,” he said. “I was thinking of just posting the ultrasound, the one from when we found out she’d be a girl. And I wrote something out already, can I read it to you?”

“Yes, of course,” you whispered, nodding. Gwilym kissed your forehead, wrapped one arm around your shoulders, and then cleared his throat. He started reading from the notepad in his phone, where he’d drafted his post. You nestled against him, your heart fluttering.

“‘This January, my life changes,’” he began, then promptly stopped and looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry, I’m already tearing up,” he then laughed, and took a moment to compose himself before he started reading from his phone again.

“‘In just a couple short months, I’m going to meet my baby girl, my sweet Rhosyn. I’ve kept quiet about her, but although I know this news may be a surprise, she wasn’t. Several months ago, I told my dear friend  **@y/n**  that what I wanted more than anything in the world was to be a father. Being the kind, generous person she is, she agreed to help me make that happen with our doctor’s help. Seeing her carry my child has been one of the most transformative experiences of my life, second only to the feeling of becoming a parent, which right now I can only imagine, but which in just a couple of months, will become a reality for us both.”

Gwilym paused and sniffed; his voice was warbled as he tried to speak through his emotions and you curled even closer to him, feeling your eyes well up too. He took a deep breath and kept reading while you lovingly rubbed small circles on his chest.

“Y/N and I started this experience together as best friends, but we’ll end it as Mum and Dad, and as the couple that all of our friends have told us we always should have been (looking at you,  **@joe_mazzello** ),’” he read with a humorous tone, and you laughed through your happy tears. “‘We are beyond overjoyed, and cannot wait to meet our little rose.’”

You sat in silence for a moment, and then Gwilym looked at you expectantly, and all you could do was bury your face in your hands and cry, leaning into his embrace.

“That’s perfect,” you choked out, and you felt Gwilym nod, stroking your hair with one hand. “I love you,” you said, and Gwilym said the same words back to you.

“Want to do the honors?” he asked as he opened up Instagram and pulled the photo of the ultrasound off his camera roll. “What do you think, does she need a filter?” he joked, and you swatted his chest. “Hey, I’m kidding!”

He copied his message into the caption box, tapped the photo to tag you in it, then handed his phone over to you. Your heart was pounding and your hand shook as you hovered your thumb over the ‘share’ button. This was it. You were excited and afraid, but before you could talk yourself out of doing what you’d asked for for so long, you tapped the button and promptly squeaked out loud.

“Oh my God,” you said with a nervous laugh, “It’s out there.”

“And about time, too,” Gwilym chuckled. “I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner, bear.”

You smiled and nodded, acknowledging larger meaning behind his apology.

Even before Gwilym closed the app, you saw hundreds—no, thousands—of likes and comments popping up. There were so many that the app actually shut itself down, overwhelmed with activity. There was no taking it back now, and Gwilym hugged you tightly to his side, pressing a kiss to your temple. You decided it’d be best to give his post a few hours to ruminate before you went through and looked at any reactions. Judging from just the initial response, they seemed mostly positive, and you couldn’t wait to see what silly quips the guys and Lucy came up with to comment beneath the photo.

Gwilym locked his phone and tossed it onto your armchair, out of sight and out of mind.

“So,” he said with a sigh, “January 23rd.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, letting your head rest in the perfect little hollow between his shoulder and chest. 

“January 23rd,” you replied, nodding. 

It was a pretty damn good day to be born, if you did say so yourself. You’d be able to get well into the new year before Rosie arrived, and she wouldn’t have to share her birthday with a holiday. Ben would be pleased, you realized with a little jolt; they’d share a birth month and you grinned, already thinking of how he was going to milk that  _so_ hard.  

“Almost there,” Gwilym said wistfully, then bowed his head and spoke with his lips just inches from your bump, “We can’t wait to meet you.”

“You’re going to make me cry again,” you said weakly, and Gwilym sat back up. You pressed your palm against his much larger one and then slipped your fingers through his. 

“Almost there,” he said again, smiling down at you. “You know what that means.”

“That I’ll only be bursting out of my clothes and nearly peeing myself for another couple months?” you guessed hopefully.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Gwilym laughed, “But that’s not what I had in mind.”

“What, then?”

He turned raised his eyebrows with a joyful, excited look on his face.

“We’ve got to throw you a baby shower.”

##  **I would love to know what you guys think of this!! I had a lot of fun finally just writing fluff between these two knuckleheads again instead of angst, and I hope you enjoyed reading it!  Don’t worry, they’ll have the sex talk soon :P**


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit steamy...!

##  **DECEMBER 6 – ABOUT 31 WEEKS**

If anyone ever dared say they had better friends or family than you did, you were one hundred percent ready and willing to laugh in their face.

Not only had they been supportive of you and Gwilym throughout your entire pregnancy (save for the rare moments of skepticism, but even that only came from having your best interests at heart), but they’d also dropped everything to for your baby shower. With a little help from your friends, you had planned it and thrown it together, and almost every single person you’d invited had made sure they were able to come. To a baby shower. For a baby due in less than two months. In the middle of holiday season.

Gwilym had suggested—and you agreed—that it made the most sense to hold the get together at his apartment. It was much more spacious than yours so it could accommodate the thirty or so guests you were expecting, and that way, any gifts people brought you would already be in the place where Rosie would be once she was born.

“Hey,” Gwilym called from inside the bathroom; you were sitting at his kitchen table, putting the finishing touches on the goodie bags. He walked out a moment later wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, still a bit dewy from his shower. “I’m going to change and run to the store for more paper plates, do we need anything else?”

He could have said the whole building was burning down and it wouldn’t have registered. You were much too focused on the way he was practically still steaming, holding the towel up with one hand. You couldn’t help but stare and feel a bit breathless, one hand still holding a candy binky and hovering over the goodie bag you were in the middle of filling.

“What? Sorry,” you finally said, snapping out of it. Gwilym’s mouth twitched, but he decided not to tease you for ogling him, not this time, at least.

“I’m just going to make one last party run,” he repeated, “Do we need anything besides plates?”

 _You. I need you._ You shook your head to clear it of your desperate thoughts, and also to answer Gwilym’s question.  

“Nope, we’re all set,” you replied. “I’ll be here, and I’ll be fine,” you added with emphasis, waving a piece of pink ribbon at him. Gwilym was always a bit nervous to leave you by yourself in case anything happened. Rhosyn still wasn’t due for a while and you had no reason to worry, but bless him, he’d read an article about preemies and hadn’t stopped fretting since. “Joe should be here before you’re even back, remember he said he’d come early and help set up?”

It was still only about ten, but you’d told your guests to come at eleven for a brunch-style party, and there was still lots of set-up to be done. Joe had volunteered to help when he RSVP’d, and you had a feeling it was because he felt badly for ever doubting that you and Gwilym could make the whole pregnancy work out. Looking back, Joe had honestly made nothing but valid points when he voiced his concern, but you still appreciated that he was eager to make up for any way he might have upset you.

“Right. Good, put him to work,” Gwilym laughed, and you nodded.  Gwilym disappeared down the hall and came back a moment later wearing his winter coat over a sweater and a pair of sweatpants. You knew he’d put on something a bit dressier for the actual party, but you bit your lip as you looked him up and down. Even in bum clothes, he looked handsome, and it was taking damn near every ounce of your self control not to tell him to  _stay, fuck the paper plates, fuck me instead!!_

“Bye,” he said sweetly, coming over to kiss the top of your head. “Text me if you remember we need anything else; I told Joe I’d leave the door open so he can just come on in.”

“Okay,” you said, wrapping your arms around him from where you sat at the table, so you were hugging his waist and your head rested on his stomach. Gwilym made to back up so he could grab his keys, but you squeezed harder and shook your head, wanting to hold on for another minute.

“Someone’s needy,” he chuckled, but obliged and reached down to rub your back until you pulled away a moment later. “Not that I mind,” he added with a smile, then knelt down to kiss you, then your bump, then you again. “I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as he shut the door behind him, you let out a breath that almost sounded like a moan. Truth be told, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore the way your body responded to everything Gwilym did or said. Your hormones made you feel ultra-sensitive all the time; the slightest of his touches could give you  _those_ tingles, and ever since talking to Dr. Harrison and finding out that you could have sex if you wanted, you’d wanted to more and more every day.

You were working extremely hard with yourself to get to the point where you’d feel comfortable doing that with him, and you knew you were almost there; you could feel it. What’s more, you’d seen the way Gwilym looked at you when you got changed for bed on the nights you spent together, and you’d noticed him staring at you almost as much as you stole glances at him. You felt every one of his lingering, hot touches, each one of which added fuel to the fire burning inside you, wanting him.

But did he want you in that way, now? You weren’t sure how to breach the subject—it wasn’t like you still had your pre-baby body, took a few extra shots at the bar, and suggested the two of you hook up on a whim. This was different, and much more serious. You were going on eight months pregnant and your main mode of transportation was waddling—pregnancy sex was a big deal. It would involve the utmost trust and understanding, which you knew deep down you would have from Gwilym, but you wanted to make sure he  _wanted_ to give it.

 _He better fucking want to_ , you thought, your mind wandering back to him and his towel as you finished up the goodie bags. You’d been turned on since you woke up in his bed earlier that morning, turned on when he greeted you in his low, sleepy voice…you could only imagine what he would sound like in another bedroom scenario, and your eyelids fluttered shut at the thought.

You busied yourself with filling the goodie bags and tying them off; you had to get them done before ten so they’d be all ready and presentable by the time everyone started to arrive. However, it was such an easy task that your mind just kept on wandering.  You wished Joe would just barge in already, that way you’d have someone else to talk to besides the horny devil on your shoulder.

Gwilym actually ended up getting back before Joe arrived, and your eyes widened; he hadn’t just gotten paper plates. In fact, it looked like he might have foregone the plates entirely, because in each hand he held several strings, and you could barely even see him through the cloud of pink and gold balloons he was trying to force through the door.  There were at least fifteen regular party balloons, but also four giant, foil ones. You saw ones in the shape of a baby girl, a bottle, a clear balloon full of pink confetti, and a binky.

“Surprise,” you heard him say, and once he made it into the living area, he let go of all the balloons and let them bounce around the room erratically. “Happy baby shower,” he said with a smile, and bopped the binky balloon in your direction.  “Can’t have a party without decorations!”

“Have I mentioned I love you?” you said as you got up and made your way over to him. You tossed the balloon back and he half caught it by the string, then let it drift up.

“Just a time or two,” he smiled, looking up at the ceiling. “We’ll let Joe deal with tying all these down…he’s still not here?”

“Running late, traffic,” you explained. Joe had texted you to let you know he had to make a quick stop for some streamers, and had consequently hit morning gridlock as a result. “But that’s okay, we can get started.”

Gwilym nodded and headed into the kitchen to preheat the oven; you’d ordered party platters from your favorite diner to save some time and energy, but the delivery wouldn’t be for another half an hour.  In the interim, you started setting out plates and utensils for later, and Gwilym ran the vacuum around the living room one more time.

 _Good lord. How did he make even that look sexy?_ you thought desperately as you watched him push the vacuum around, lifting up the skirt on the couch to get underneath it—sweet Jesus, he even switched over to the right attachment when it was time to go onto the area rug. If that wasn’t one of the sexiest things you’d ever seen, you didn’t know what was.  _Get it together; you cannot be daydreaming about fucking your boyfriend just because he vacuumed,_ a voice in your head said.

 _But why not?_ Another one promptly chimed in.

The whirring of the vacuum stopped and Gwilym shoved it back in his hall closet. You were standing by the fridge, both to distract yourself from your R-rated thoughts and also to make sure you had everything you needed. Creamer, check, butter and jam, check, fruit salad…right, Ben was making that. All set.

Satisfied, you closed the door and went back into the living room. Gwilym was spreading out a tree skirt around the bottom of a small Christmas tree he’d gotten for his apartment; that would be where people put any gifts for Rosie. He crouched down to tuck the excess fabric under itself so no one would trip, then steadied a couple of the ornaments that were threatening to fall off. You couldn’t help but check out his butt as he did so, and he caught you staring a moment later.

“Like what you see?” he said with a wink and a little shimmy.

“Very much,” you nodded; there was no point denying it as you walked over to him. “No, please continue,” you said cheekily as he stood up. You stood on your tip-toes and acted like you were going to kiss him, but instead just slipped a hand around him and gave him a little slap on the backside, making him jump.

“I’m feeling very objectified right now, Y/N,” he tried to say seriously, but cracked and laughed halfway through.

“Sorry, can’t help myself,” you said honestly.

“I can tell, you’ve been touchy-feely all morning,” he said curiously.  “What’s gotten into you?”

_You. You’ve gotten into me. In every daydream I have. You. In me._

“Hormones,” you shrugged nonchalantly, and Gwilym furrowed his brow. He was never sure exactly what that umbrella term meant, because it could be any range of emotions—were you happy? Angry? About to cry over a GEICO commercial like you did last night?

“Your hormones made you stare at my butt?” he laughed, and poked your shoulder teasingly. “I don’t buy it. I think that was aaalll you.”

“Me  _and_ the hormones.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m horny!” you blurted out all of a sudden, unable to hold it inside any longer. You clapped your hand over your mouth, then after a moment of pause, decided just to get it all out of your system. “I’ve been horny for days and I can’t do anything about it!”

“You’re—? Oh,” Gwilym laughed and tried to cover his smile with his hand as he looked you up and down. “You never just, you know, took care of things?” He chuckled.

“No, I have not. Because I  _can’t,_ ” you said, eyes wide and sounding a bit deranged. You could feel a rant coming on and poor Gwilym was about to be on the receiving end of it, but you couldn’t stop the slew of words bubbling out of your mouth.

“I can’t see my toes let alone reach around this mountain of a stomach I’ve got and trust me  _I have tried_ ,” you said intensely. “And now I’m so horny I’d fuck Gary Busey, but I don’t even know if I physically can have sex at this point because I’m giving a whole new meaning to the words ‘sperm whale’ and let me tell you, I’ve been seriously eyeing anything longer than six inches because fucking  _everything_ looks like a dick right now! A dick which I probably wouldn’t even be able to enjoy because there’s a baby kicking my bladder every few minutes and making me nearly piss myself!”

Gwilym looked at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, trying his best to hide his amusement. He felt badly, he really did, but there was something about you going on a sex-deprived rant with your belly sticking out from under your Disney pajamas that was just so god damn endearing.

“I see. Anything over six inches, huh?” He teased, then glanced over at the coffee table. “So, the TV remote…?”

“Considered it,” you said, hands on your hips. “Didn’t do it. But the thought was there.”

“That’s gross,” Gwilym laughed. “I’m sorry, love, that sucks,” he said with a straight face. He’d remembered Dr. Harrison’s advice about just letting you rant or cry or grump if you wanted to; sometimes it was best to just agree and move on.

“Thank you. It does,” you pouted, then folded your arms over your huge belly. “And it’s unfair, you know. I haven’t had sex in months and even before this baby I was in a dry spell, and now I’m dying, and it’s all your fault,” you said bluntly.

“My fault?” Gwilym laughed, “You agreed to get pregnant, remember? This was a team effort,” he said, highly amused.

“It isn’t your fault because of  _that_ ,” you whined, “It’s because you’re so  _hot_. With your balloons and vacuuming and just  _everything_ , and I just want to rip your clothes off and go at it but I  _can’t_ because we have guests coming soon and somehow I don’t think that’s the kind of baby shower activity they’re expecting.”

 _Oh,_ Gwilym thought.  _OH._

“You want to—with me? Now?”

You nodded and Gwilym stared with his mouth slightly open. This outburst…well, frankly it was excellent news, but he was still a bit shocked to hear such a blatant confession.

Suddenly, you both heard an awkward cough from behind you, and you whirled around to see Joe standing in the doorway, his arms full of presents and his cheeks a bit red.  Your mouth fell open and Gwilym burst into a laugh that he tried to disguise as a cough. In your fit of sexual frustration, you’d forgotten Joe was due to come over any moment.

“Ah, fuck,” you muttered with an embarrassed smile, wondering how much he’d heard.

“I can go if you’re trying to, don’t let me interrupt,” Joe replied, always witty; he looked equal parts amused and embarrassed to have arrived to help set up in the middle of such a private conversation, but you shook your head and walked over to greet him. You all laughed a bit uncomfortably for a couple seconds before brushing it off, and Gwilym took the gifts from Joe’s arms.

“Sorry,” you said, your cheeks hot as you took the top two presents from Joe and brought them over to the table in the corner. “It’s been an interesting morning.”

“So it seems,” Joe said with a smirk, already getting to work taping the streamers he’d bought to the walls. He pulled a chair over to the wall so he could reach up higher as you arranged his gifts by the tree and set out a little basket for cards. “Oh—the bottom one’s for Rhosyn, and the bag’s for her Mum and Dad,” he said. “A little something for once you can drink again, Y/N!”

“You know me well,” you said affectionately, peering inside to see a bottle of Bailey’s—perfect for a little extra something-something in your cocoa. “Thanks, Joe.”

“That’s Uncle Joe to you now,” he said happily, then got down from the chair and came over to where you and Gwilym stood. He put one hand on your shoulder and the other on Gwilym’s and gave you both a genuine smile. “You have no idea how happy I am that you guys are together,” he said honestly. You knew what it was—a compliment, apology, and truth all rolled into one. Your words failed you, so you just pulled Joe into a tight hug and nodded into his shoulder, acknowledging it all.

“God, I didn’t want to cry until at least halfway through the party,” you laughed, pulling away and sniffling, “Dammit, Mazzello, just help me decorate.”

“Aye aye,” he said, giving you a mock salute as you finished putting the finishing touches around the apartment. Over the course of the next hour, the food arrived, you covered every surface with bowls of nuts, sweet tart candies, and butter mints, and you and Gwilym finally changed out of your pajamas when Joe pointed out you still looked like you’d just rolled out of bed. Whoops.

Soon enough, you heard Gwilym’s apartment buzzer go off, signaling the arrival of your first guests. It was Gwilym’s siblings and their kids, and you heard the pitter-patter of toddler feet coming down the hallway before Gwilym even opened the door.

“Uncle Gwil!” All his nieces and nephews all squealed as they ran into the apartment. Gwilym crouched down and held his arms open wide, laughing as they ran into his arms. Gwilym scooped the two that had gotten to him first both up like it was the easiest thing in the world, balancing a kid on each hip, and your heart just about melted right then and there.

“Arrghhhh, my little goobers!” he said, carrying both kids over—the others followed like ducklings—to the section of the room you’d set aside and filled with spare games and puzzles so the kiddos wouldn’t be bored. “How are you, how’s preschool, huh? Getting all A’s?”

“I painted a turtle, and the teacher said to paint green, but I did purple,” his nephew announced, and Gwilym gave him an impressed look, saying something about his being the next Monet.

“And how about you, princess?” he asked his niece, who you could see was a bit shy being around so many people.

She just nodded in response and hid her face in Gwilym’s shoulder with a tiny smile, one of her chubby little arms around his neck. Gwilym groaned playfully as he set them down and handed her a light up toy car. As he stood up and started taking more guests’ coats as they arrived, you caught his eye and he winked at you.

“Hey, Y/N, where should I put this?”

You turned, surprised to hear Ben’s voice behind you a few moments later.

“Hey you!” you said, giving him a one-armed hug since he was balancing a metal bowl full of fruit salad in the other. “I didn’t realize you came in, thank you for doing this, by the way,” you said. He’d offered to make the salad himself, and from the looks of it, it would be one of the best you’d ever had.

“No biggie,” Ben said with a shrug, “I wanted to. There’s even kiwis on it,” he said proudly, lifting the lid proudly.

“You’re wonderful,” you said, and leaned in to peck him on the cheek. “Why don’t you toss it in the fridge for now?”

Ben nodded and headed off to the kitchen while you surveyed the living room, which was getting increasingly more crowded. It was also getting harder to hear the buzzer when more people showed up, so you shuffled past Gwilym’s brother and sister-in-law so you could stand near the receiver.

Another fifteen minutes later, almost everyone had arrived. Allen and his wife had arrived each carrying a 48-pack of diapers, each with a giant bow taped on, and Rami and Lucy had their arms full of gifts as well. Ben, in addition to the salad, had brought a rather badly-wrapped parcel, but to his credit, it was so bulky and haphazardly covered that you had absolutely no idea what was inside, so technically, he still succeeded. You were a little overwhelmed seeing how generous everyone was being, especially considering that you hadn’t even put together a registry or asked for anything except their presence at the party. Lucy gave you a quick hug, but you noticed she was hiding something behind her back that looked like a poster.

You gave her a questioning glance, but she shook her head.

“You’ll find out later!” she said with a wink and slipped it behind the couch.

A collective gasp a few moments later from your friends and family outside the Bohemian Rhapsody cast let you know that Brian and Roger had arrived; you greeted them, as well as Anita and Sarina, and helped them navigate the crowded apartment (and somewhat star-struck crowd of guests).

“For the little one,” Brian said kindly, handing you a small bag. “Only one of its kind, you know—I had to do something special for Rosie, she’s a bit like a granddaughter in a way, if you don’t mind my saying that.”

Your heart swelled; that had to be one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to you, and it warmed your heart how strong a bond Brian and Gwilym had really formed over the course of making the movie. You had half a mind to open the gift now just because you were so eager to find out what it was that could be so unique, but Brian sensed that and put one hand over yours; he shook his head with a twinkle in his eye.

“Open it when it’s just the two of you,” he said, and you nodded.

“Food’s ready!” you heard Gwilym call from across the room, and you got in line behind Ben and Joe as everyone started to file into the kitchen—luckily, the way Gwilym’s apartment was set up, one could simply walk in one side of the kitchen and out the other, so it truly was like a buffet line.

“So, who’re the godparents?” Joe asked you as you waited, and Ben perked up, wondering the same thing. You raised an eyebrow.

“Why, vying for the title?” you teased, then jumped when you felt Rosie basically do a backflip. “Go on, you can feel,” you said jovially, noticing the curiosity on both Joe and Ben’s faces. They each put a hand on your stomach and their eyes widened as Rosie continued moving around.

“That’s wild,” Ben said in awe, “You put up with that every day?”

“You learn to love it,” you said honestly, patting your belly.

“Well, we want joint godfather custody,” Joe said, somehow with a straight face as he returned to the previous topic. “Won’t accept anything less.”

You snorted and shook your head at them lovingly. You knew that Gwilym already wanted his brother Owen to be godfather, but hadn’t asked just yet, mostly because he knew Owen would cry, and Gwilym knew then  _he_ would cry, and he thought that moment would be best shared just among family. Still, to placate Joe and Ben, you pretended to think about it.

“How about on-call babysitter duty?” you suggested. Ben and Joe both nodded eagerly, their minds clearly jumping to playing peekaboo and pushing the stroller, but you heard Gwilym’s sister Rhiannon chuckle behind you and knew she must be thinking along the same lines as you were. “Great!” you said, clapping a hand on both their backs. “We’ll call you whenever she pukes or poops. Now eat up!” you said brightly, pushing the now not so enthused men towards the pan of scrambled eggs.

“Hey, can I get everyone’s attention?” Lucy said loudly over the noise; everyone was mostly done with their food, and before the guests started falling into post-meal sleepiness, she had something she wanted to do.

You looked at her curiously as she stood up and removed the poster board she’d brought earlier from behind the couch. Everyone else chuckled and looked at each other excitedly, but you had no idea what was going on. You gave Gwilym a sidelong glance; he looked just as confused as you did and you had a feeling you were the only two who didn’t know what was on the other side of the board.

“Love, can you…?” Lucy said to Rami, who hopped up and retrieved a stack of papers from Lucy’s bag, then started passing them out. “I thought it’d be fun to play a little game, since this is a party after all,” she said with a smile, “And thank you all for helping out ahead of time,” she said.

“What’s she on about?” Gwilym asked you, one hand on your knee. You shrugged, and he turned to ask Joe the same question, but Joe just gave him a sneaky, tight-lipped smile in return.

“Here you go,” Rami said when he got to you, and you looked at the paper curiously. It was almost blank; it just had several numbered lines, and a place to put your name at the top.

“What’s this, a quiz?” Gwilym laughed.

“In a sense,” said Lucy, and finally, she flipped the poster board over so you could see. On it were several rows of baby pictures, and as everyone started laughing even harder, it clicked, and you looked at Lucy in wonder.  _How had she done this?_ The number of photos on the board matched the number of party guests, and they were labeled #1-30. You’d have to guess who was who, based only on the baby picture. It was absolutely genius.

“Shhh, no spoilers!” Lucy reminded the party as people started pointing and whispering. “Now, the game is pretty simple—everyone here is on this board somewhere; all you have to do is write down the name of the party guest on your sheet next to the number you think is their picture. You can ask anyone here any childhood questions you want to try and figure out which picture is theirs, but no cheating!”

You couldn’t stop smiling; leave it to Lucy to come up with something like this, and with such little notice too! As you started looking at the board to try and guess, though, you gasped, then covered your mouth—no spoilers! But you’d noticed a baby picture of yourself, and one of Gwilym that you recognized from his mum’s old albums. Lucy must have asked one of your family members, and of course, they’d given her the absolute most embarrassing photo of you they could find.

“Let’s say, half an hour to fill out your lists, and then we’ll reveal the answers.”

Lucy propped the board up on the back of the couch so it was leaning against the wall and you tried your best to get close enough to make out all the small photos.

“Number 10’s my sister,” Gwilym said immediately, and wrote ‘Rhiannon Lee’ on the line next to that number on his sheet.

“Well, you’ve got an advantage, haven’t you?” you said, nudging him. He’d have at least four right answers off the bat—his siblings, and you. “Well, I happen to know 7 and 23, and I’m not telling,” you teased, shielded your sheet from view.

“Oh, you want to play that way, huh?” Gwilym said, “You’re on.”

You wrinkled your nose at him and leaned in for a quick kiss, then accepted the challenge and got up to figure things out on your own.  You got up close to the board and looked for telltale characteristics first—Rami was easy to spot because his photo was with Sami and they were the only set of twins on the board, you guessed Roger and Brian’s pretty easily, and Joe…well, everyone had seen Joe as a kid in Jurassic Park, so it wasn’t too hard to imagine him just a bit younger. The toddler wearing shark swim trunks and kneeling by a sand castle in Photo #19 was most definitely mini Mazzello.

It was the funniest game you’d played in a while—guests who had never even met before the baby shower were getting right up in each other’s faces, trying to find any similarity they could between the blurry photos on the board, and the now much older versions of the babies in them.  You saw Anita and Gwilym’s eldest brother looking intensely at each other, then the board, then back to each other, and Lucy was laughing as Rami made his guess on which picture was of her—judging by her amused reaction, he was way off the mark.

After you were confident in most of your guesses—you had to have gotten at least ten or more right—you eased yourself back down onto the couch to give your back a rest. On second thought, you carefully got up again and headed over to the kiddie corner to say hello to Gwilym’s nieces and nephews; you didn’t want them to feel ignored! Gwilym took your spot on the couch a moment after you’d left it, intent on finishing his list—was the chubby baby in the bathtub in Photo #5 baby Ben, or baby Lucy?

“Cheers, Gugu,” he heard to his left, and automatically laugh-groaned hearing his old nickname.

“Never going to let it go, are you?” Gwilym said amicably as he looked up to see his brother, Owen, and moved so he would have a bit more room.  Gwilym peered at Owen’s sheet, and after a moment of playing hard to get, Owen let him see it.

“Do you even remember when that picture was taken?” Owen asked with a laugh, indicating the one of Gwilym, Number 15. It was a picture of Gwil as a toddler, sitting at a dining room table in tears with cake and frosting all over his face.

“My fourth birthday, right?”

“Yep,” Owen laughed, “Poor kid, you ate all the cake you could, then asked for another slice and cried when Mum said you couldn’t have any more.”

“‘But I didn’t  _eat_ any cake yet!’” Owen and Gwilym said in unison to finish the story, mimicking four-year-old Gwilym whining about dessert.

“As if you didn’t have evidence all over you!” Owen chuckled, clapping a hand on his little brother’s back.

They sat like that in silence for a moment, just enjoying each other’s company. Gwilym sat with his forearms on his knees, tapping his foot slightly as he looked over and saw you playing with the kids. He felt such rush of love for you and sighed happily, which didn’t go unnoticed. Owen turned to him a moment later with a soft smile on his face.

“I’ve never seen you this happy, mate,” he said. “I mean, you’ve always been an upbeat guy, but this,” he said, nodding over at you, “This is something else.”

“I can’t believe it’s happening,” Gwilym said softly, earnestly. “Some days I really can’t, it’s like—I don’t know, it’s like it’s too good to be true. I’m going to have a family, my own family,” he said thickly. “And with her…” he trailed off.

Owen elbowed Gwilym lightly. “Between you and me, I was really hoping somehow it’d be you two in the end,” he said. “You just make sense together—you’re good for her, Gwil, and I know she’s good for you too.”

Gwilym nodded, and caught your eye from across the room as he did so. He waved at you and you waved back, with one of his niece’s Beanie Babies in hand. Even though you were right there in the room, it still amazed Gwilym that you, and Rhosyn…that was his future now. Even more amazing was how excited he was to experience all of it by your side.

“You really love her,” Owen said, and it wasn’t a question. “And I swear, you were born to be a dad,” he chuckled.

“How hard is it?” Gwilym asked suddenly, feeling a bit of urgency. He knew Owen was always only a phone call away, but it was important to make every minute they got to spend together in person count. It wasn’t often anymore that Gwilym needed his older brother’s advice; he wanted to cherish the moment. “Parenting. How hard is it really?”

“You want me to honest?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the most difficult thing you’ll ever do,” Owen said, looking towards his own kids. “It’s confusing, and exhausting, and it’ll challenge you in ways you don’t even know yet. You’re going to mess up some things, but not too badly, because you’re you,” he said fondly. “But I will say, it’s scary, how much you’ll love her—when Rhosyn’s born, it’ll feel like you’re letting your own heart live outside your body, but Gwil…raising a kid’s the most beautiful thing in the world, too. And you’ve got one hell of an amazing woman to do it with.”

Gwilym sniffed and laughed, nodding. “I do,” he said as Owen squeezed his shoulder.  _Yeah. I really do._

“Hey, O,” Gwilym said suddenly. “I was going to ask you this later, but–would you be Rhosyn’s godfather? It would mean the world to me,” he said softly. It was a serious question, but the party guests were too preoccupied to notice the moment he was having with his brother, which he was thankful for.

“Of course I will,” Owen said without hesitation, though he had to work hard to hold back a tear, “So long as you’re okay with me spoiling her rotten.”

Gwilym laughed and grabbed another tissue. “Not a problem at all.”

For a baby shower, the party went on a lot longer than you anticipated; while most of the guests had said their goodbyes by midafternoon, Joe, Ben, and Owen’s family stayed well into the evening. It was nice to have their company, though; you knew once Rosie was born there wouldn’t be nearly as much time to just sit back and relax, so you wanted to enjoy it while you could.

“When’s she due again?” Ben asked.

“January 23,” you replied, and he smiled, excited to have the birthday closest to hers out of all the guys. “Ugh, I can’t wait, I feel like one of these things about to pop,” you said, pulling one of the balloons down and letting it drift back up to the ceiling.

“I hope she looks like you, Y/N,” Joe said, “If she comes out looking like Gwil, I’ll really feel for her,” he joked, and Gwilym pretended to look hurt.

“Hey now,” you said lightheartedly, “I happen to think he’s very handsome.” You leaned in and gave Gwilym a quick kiss.

“Yeah, that’s my cue to go,” Joe joked, but upon glancing at his watch, he did get up and stretch. “I’d love to stay, but we’ve all got things to do, I’m sure,” he said, and winked at you.

“Thanks for coming, mate,” Gwilym said as he got up and started saying his goodbyes. Ben decided to take his leave too, and he helped you up so he could give you a proper hug goodbye.

“Oh! Do you want your leftovers?” you asked him, remembering that there was still a good amount of fruit salad left.

Ben shook his head. “Consider it an extra gift,” he smiled, before he and Joe shook hands with Gwilym’s relatives and made for the door.

“Seriously, if you two ever need a night to yourselves, and from what I heard earlier it sounds like you will, you just give Uncle Joe a call,” Joe said with an intense look as he put on his coat in the foyer.

“Or any of us,” Ben added sincerely, “You’ve got loads of nannies on hand.”

“Duly noted,” Gwilym said, and you both waved as the guys walked down the hall to the elevator. When you went back to the living room, you saw Owen helping his kids get their snow boots on–it had begun to flurry outside.  “Heading out too?” Gwilym asked.

“Probably ought to, the snow’s supposed to keep up all night,” Owen’s wife said, “And these rascals want to watch Elf before it gets too late. Say bye to Uncle Gwil, honeys!”

“And Auntie Y/N,” Gwilym added, and you felt your heart dance a little cucaracha of happiness. Auntie Y/N had a nice ring to it.

You laughed as Gwilym’s niece–apparently past her shyness from before–hugged your legs and planted a big ol’ kiss on your belly.

“Bye Wosie,” she said, and everyone laughed affectionately at her little mispronunciation.

“Nos da,” Owen said as he hugged his brother, then shook his hand, “Gugu,” he added with a smirk, and once again, Gwilym rolled his eyes.

“Goodnight,” he said back, “Thank you all for coming–argh, yes all of you!” he said as his niece and nephew hugged him–well, more like tackled.  After one last round of goodbyes, the two of you were alone in the apartment once more.

You felt like your ears were ringing and you were all sorts of discombobulated because even though it was only five in the evening, it was dark out, whereas it had been bright and sunny when the party started. You hadn’t bothered to turn on many lights earlier since the natural light took care of it, so now it was growing steadily dimmer in the living room. Most of the light came from the soft glow of Gwilym’s Christmas tree.

“Holy moly,” you said in a whoosh as you sat down on the couch.

“Agreed,” Gwilym said. He was making the rounds and cleaning up stray garbage and napkins, then came around back to the tree and eyed it. “Jesus,” he laughed, seeing the mountain of presents underneath; he couldn’t believe it. “Do you want to do these now?”

“I think I’m all baby showered out,” you admitted. “Tomorrow? Actually, wait—just grab Brian’s. I’ve been curious all day,” you said, sitting up straight.

Gwilym brought the small bag over to you, shaking it like a kid might shake a mystery gift on Christmas morning. He settled on the cushions next to you and handed you the bag, then wrapped one arm loosely around your shoulders. You read the card first _—_

_“For Y/N, Gwilym, and Rhosyn. One part of this gift is for now, and the other when the little one gets a bit bigger. I’m wishing you all the best in this next step and hopefully this serves as a reminder of ‘grandpa’! – Bri”_

You smiled, he was too sweet. Inside was a small jewelry box containing a dainty necklace with one charm—a silver guitar pick with a singular garnet set into it, the January birthstone.  At the bottom of the bag was a onesie, rolled up, and you and Gwilym both immediately smiled and “aww’d” when you unfolded it and saw the design. It was the same pattern as was on Brian’s “official” shirts—a collection of his guitars printed on the black background.

“He thinks of everything, that man,” Gwilym said with a shake of his head. “We’ll have to make sure that’s the first one we put her in.”

“Absolutely,” you said, and stretched up for a kiss. “What a day,” you said when you broke apart. You tried to put the bag on the coffee table, but Gwilym saw that you couldn’t quite reach and took everything from your hands, helping you out. You then cuddled against him and just enjoyed the silence that filled the dimly lit living room.

The dishwasher was running in the background and you could hear the occasional car pass by outside, but otherwise it was just you, Gwilym, and your heartbeats. Through the slit in the curtains you could see the snow falling past the streetlamps, and watching the flakes tumble down made your eyelids feel suddenly droopy. You couldn’t tell if you were actually sleepy or just physically tired, but you knew for certain that you wanted more of Gwilym’s touch and really nestled into him. He laughed, a low sound, and carefully helped you swing your legs over his lap. He reached and grabbed a blanket from the end of the couch and he spread it over you both, then rested one hand on your thigh underneath it.

“Tired?” he asked.

You nodded, your head on his chest. “Just a bit. Being pregnant is tough.”

“I can only imagine,” Gwilym agreed, moving just a little. Something about the way he shifted against you made you feel suddenly much more awake, though, and you felt a little spark ignite rather low in your abdomen.  _Fucking. Hormones_ , you thought, then reconsidered.  _Fucking hormones?_

“And to think I didn’t even get to get pregnant the fun way,” you said, biting your lip. It was risky, but you had a feeling Gwilym wouldn’t mind. Sure enough, he immediately raised an eyebrow, a smirk starting to tweak his lips. He looked down at you and wove his fingers through yours under the fleece throw.

“What’s the fun way?” He said slyly, looking at you with a gleam in his eye. Good lord, did he have any idea what he was doing to you?  _Actually_ , you thought,  _he probably knows exactly what he does to me. Wanker._

“I think you know the answer to that,” you replied coolly, although it was quite difficult to resist his charm.

“I really don’t,” Gwilym fibbed, “I’m going to need you to tell me.”

You decided to have as much fun with this as possible. So he wanted to be a tease, huh? Two could play at that game, although you weren’t sure how much teasing you could take before you snapped and pounced.

“You know,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully and leaning sideways to see him better, “The horizontal tango. Doing the ‘do. A good old-fashioned romp in the sheets.” You paused, thinking. “Hanky-panky.”

“Uh-huh,” said Gwilym, feigning realization. “You’re saying we could have had sex.”

“If we weren’t such idiots,” you nodded, your left hand toying with the top of his sweater. Gwilym embraced you, his arms warm on your shoulders as he drew you in close.

“You could have told me you were turned on all this time, you know,” Gwilym said kindly, “I’d be happy to help out.”

“What a gentleman.”

“I’m serious!”

You tilted your head back and looked up at him, pouting. As soon as the friskiness had come, it was replaced by self doubt again; damn these mood swings.

“Nah, you don’t want to do that, not now,” you said sadly, “I’m Shamu.”

Gwilym burst out laughing at the mental image he got—a killer whale dressed in your clothes—and his laughter rumbled in his chest. You couldn’t help but crack up as well, resting your head on him and relishing the way he held you against his body. Once the giggles had subsided, he cupped your face in both hands and looked you in the eye.

“You are not Shamu,” he assured you, then paused and made a contemplative face. “More like Free Willy.”

“Mean,” you pouted, then sighed in frustration. “Gwil, I feel like a big spud with a smaller spud inside me,” You moaned.

“I like potatoes,” he said simply.

“Hmph,” you groaned, then slipped your arms around Gwilym’s midsection. Your position on the couch made it tough to hug him properly, but it still felt nice. He smelled  _very_ nice.

“Why would you think I don’t want to have sex with you?” Gwilym asked with genuine curiosity after a moment, kissing your hair. Did you really think he wasn’t attracted to you anymore because you were pregnant?

“Uh, A, I’m not cute anymore, B, I look like a balloon animal, and C, I can barely move.”

“What about uh, D, none of the above?” Gwilym said, mimicking your tone.

“I don’t think you understand, babe. I am not super mobile right now…your girl’s not exactly a sex bomb,” you said, only half-joking.

“I beg to differ,” Gwilym said, feeling quite warm and happy inside after hearing you call yourself his girl.  “But does my girl  _want_ to have sex, that’s the million-pound question,” he asked, and you nodded.  

“Then we can make it work,” he said sweetly, “You walk around all day; this will be so much less effort than that! You can lie down with a pillow and I’ll do all the work, I promise. Only if you want, of course.”

You sighed; you appreciated his words, but he simply did not get how hard it was to maneuver when you had a belly full of baby and fifteen extra pounds working against you. It made even the most mundane tasks a gamble, let alone sex. You never knew when you might pee, or pop a joint, or randomly burp, and the last thing you wanted was to lie in place like a dead fish the first time you and Gwilym slept together. If you were going to have sex, he needed to understand the risks.

“Gwil,” you said very seriously.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

“I do want to have sex with you. But I need you to know. If we do, it is not going to be wild and kinky; this is going to be the most vanilla, clumsy, amateur hour sex you’ve ever had in your life.”

“Totally okay,” he said with a smile. He didn’t care how awkward it was; it would be with you, and that was already going to make it the best he’d ever had.

“Gwilym.”

“Y/N.”

You looked him dead in the eye.

“When I say I’m not that mobile, I don’t mean I’m just a little stiff. I mean that yesterday I farted from the effort of getting clothes out of the dryer.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Gwilym said with a comforting shrug, completely unfazed.

“I might fart mid-sex.”

“I’ll pretend I don’t notice. Just moan to cover it up,” he said.

“What! No! Then every time I moan, ever, you’ll wonder if it’s just because I let one rip!” You argued, and Gwilym furrowed his brow; that was a fair point.

He could see that underneath all the jest, you really were concerned, and he decided to drop the humor and be serious. He pulled your hands out from underneath the blanket, held them in his and kissed them, then looked you in the eye.

“Hey,” he said softly, “I know this would be a big step, and I don’t want to force it on you at all, but there is no one else in the world I want to be with except for you. You’re it for me, love, and yes, things could get a little awkward or messy, but that’s…” he shrugged, “That’s just how sex is. You know that and I know that. I love you, yeah? And I want to show you just how much, if you’ll let me.”

“But I’m—” You started to say  _I’m pregnant_ , worried that he might be grossed out by the idea of having sex while you had another human inside you, but Gwilym stopped you by pressing a finger to your lips. “Doesn’t that freak you out?” you whispered tentatively once he removed it.

“Not a bit,” he said without hesitation, “Y/N, you, and what you’re doing, what your body’s doing—that is so beautiful. I am so in love with you, bear, and even if we have sex and it sucks—which it  _won’t_ —my loving you is never going to change.”

“I just,” you sighed, “This—me being pregnant, I mean—isn’t what I thought our first time together would be like,” you admitted, then looked up at him. You were  _damn_ good in bed, a genuine riot in the sack, and you wanted to show Gwilym that side of you, not the lazy action he’d get if you had sex now. “I swear to God, I could have rocked your whole world eight months ago and now I can’t even bend over without getting dizzy.”

“Hang on—you’ve thought about having sex with me before now?” Gwilym said, momentarily distracted.

“Yeah, of course,” you replied. “It’s kind of protocol if you have a best friend of the opposite sex, isn’t it? You’ve got to think about banging them at least once just to satisfy the curiosity.”

“Oh,” said Gwilym, looking surprised, “I did not know that.”

“You’ve never thought about having sex with me?”

“No, of course I have, I just didn’t know it was a thing women thought about too,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s definitely a thing,” you laughed, “And I definitely thought about it, but this isn’t how it played out in my head.”

Gwilym smiled and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. He wanted to ask how it  _did_ play out, but settled on a broader question instead.

“Rock my whole world, huh?” Gwilym said with a little smirk, and you nodded. “Sweetheart, you do that every day.”

“Not how I meant it, you cheese ball, but thanks,” you smirked.

“I know. I also know that we will have all the time in the world after Rosie’s born for world-rocking, crazy, make-our-own-porno sex, yeah, I said it,” he nodded with a cocky smile, seeing the way your mouth fell open. “Even if it’s just a quickie between diaper changes. I fully intend to fuck you every way in the book and twice on Sundays as soon as you’re cleared, but it’s okay that for right now it’s not that way. You’re having our daughter in a month and a half, love,” he said with a soft laugh, “The last thing I care about at the moment is how wild we are in bed. I just want to make you feel good.”

You had to admit, his words were intoxicating, and he was right; the first time you had sex certainly wouldn’t be the last. This would just be the start of getting to know each other’s bodies, finding out everything that made each other tick, and feeling every inch of him from the inside out. You didn’t need all that right away, but what you did need, what you knew you both craved, was a physical confirmation of the love you had for each other. Come to think of it, you knew Gwilym in every way except intimately, and that was a part of his body and soul you desperately wanted, and wanted to give to him as well.

That’s why when Gwilym dipped his head and began kissing underneath your ear, you melted in his arms and sighed, your eyelids fluttering shut and your mouth falling open in a silent moan. That’s why when your hands started to wander over Gwilym’s chest, it felt natural, and that’s why when he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips and whispered against them, “Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?” – You nodded.

Gwilym lifted your legs off his lap and sat forward, caressing them both before you put them down on the ground again. He then rose from the sofa and held out his hand to you. You slipped your hands into his much bigger ones and got up–your legs had started to fall asleep when you were sitting, so you really leaned into Gwilym for support. With a wink and a cheeky wiggle of his eyebrows, Gwilym led you down the hall to his bedroom. You shivered when you walk in, both from anticipation and because it was draftier in the master than it was in the rest of the apartment.

His room was a right mess, though that was more your fault than his. You’d spent the last three nights there and your travel bag lay wide open in the corner. His bed was unmade and the comforter mussed up, but that didn’t matter. Still, he scratched the back of his head and instinctively darted around the room, flicked his desk lamp on, and started tossing stray socks and underwear to the side as if you hadn’t seen the place in all its messy glory when you woke up.

“Hey, lovah,” you said with a dramatic flair a moment later, and although the nickname was just a joke, your heart fluttered–a lover was what exactly he was about to become. “Come here,” you said, your voice now a husky whisper.

Gwilym didn’t need telling twice, and he crossed the room in two long strides. He cupped your face in his hands, looking at your every feature in the soft, low lighting of the room.

“You’re beautiful,” he said sincerely. You rolled your eyes. “No, none of that,” he whispered, thumbing your cheeks. “You—” he leaned in and pecked you on the lips, “Are—” another kiss—“Stunning,” he whispered, then bowed his head again.

The last kiss lingered; it was dizzying, and the way Gwilym’s lips moved against yours was so sensual and genuine that you believed every word he’d said.  You opened your mouth just slightly, which was all the invitation he needed to gently slip his tongue between your lips, sweeping it across your bottom one first before pushing it further. You sighed when his tongue met yours, warm and firm, and Gwilym’s hands flew to your waist as you became lost in each other. You snaked your arms up around his neck and tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck; it was slightly coarser than the rest. Gwilym’s breathing grew heavier and his grip got tighter as your mouths moved together; feeling daring, you let go of him, only to drop your arms and feel underneath his shirt instead.

Gwilym gasped and chuckled. “Cold fingers,” he whispered, and you smirked up at him.

“Too bad,” you challenged, and then his lips were on yours again, more desperate this time.  You broke the kiss only to start hastily pulling his sweater up and he got the message. He grabbed the back of the sweater and yanked it over his head that way, throwing it to the side.

You stared. He was toned, yet soft, and so warm that even just when you placed your hands on his bare chest, you felt heat spread all over your body.

“Holy shit, you’re gorgeous,” you said softly, and Gwilym bit his lip to hide his grin; that sure was nice to hear. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” you admitted, then bit back a moan as he slipped two fingers inside the waistband of your leggings.

“Believe it, love,” he whispered, and then at your nod, pushed your leggings down to the floor. You held onto him to steady yourself as you stepped out of them, then as it turned out you needed his help to get the rest of your clothes off as well. Somehow he made you feel sexy and desired the entire time, even when your shirt got stuck on your head and you looked like Casper the Friendly Ghost for a couple seconds before he could stop laughing long enough to tug it the rest of the way off.

Finally, you lay down on the bed, and things seemed to hit a standstill, but that was okay. You were in no rush. You curled up on your side, naked save for your granny panties, and Gwilym faced you, also wearing nothing but his underwear. You’d seen each other like this before since you’d been sleeping over so often, but now your senses were heightened, and you were almost embarrassed at how aroused you already were. He’d hardly touched you, yet you could swear you had Niagara Falls going on  _down there._

“Hi,” he said, leaning up on one elbow. He trailed his other hand up and down your side, feeling the curve of your hip and scratching lightly with his nails every now and then.

“Hi,” you replied, but now you were getting a little impatient, so you initiated another kiss. “I’d love to lie here and chat,” you said between smooches, “But someone promised me he was going to make me feel good–” Gwilym hummed appreciatively against your lips–“And I’d love to find out what he means by that.”

As if that wasn’t enough to encourage him already, you swept one hand down Gwilym’s chest, then down his stomach, right down to his waistband. Your breath caught in your throat–you’d never touched him like this before and looked up to meet his gaze. He nodded, mouth slightly open, and you let your hand venture further, feeling how aroused he was over the thin fabric of his boxers.  

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as you palmed his erection; his hips stuttered towards you and you saw a couple small beads of sweat break out on his forehead as he rocked himself against your hand. Even in the low light, Gwilym could see how your eyes widened the more you felt of him, and not to toot his own horn, but he knew why.

“I’ll go slow,” he said with a little grin. “Promise, love.”

“Cocky bastard,” you replied, but what you meant as a jab came out more like a desperate gasp for air.  You kissed him once more, both of you taking a few minutes just to touch and feel, before you took matters into your own hands again and rolled over onto your other side so your back was to him.

“I think this way will be best,” you said; it was one of the most highly recommended positions from Dr. Harrison’s pamphlet, though you immediately pushed all thoughts of him aside as you felt Gwilym’s chest pressed against your back, hot skin against hot skin. You leaned back against his body, completely comfortable and at ease, and moaned again when you felt him, hard against your lower back. He’d taken off his boxers and helped you get your underwear off too, then settled back against you, one hand between your legs.

“Gwil,” you gasped as he continued his ministrations. Holy shit, had you really gone so long without being touched that this would be enough to get you off? You felt like you didn’t even need any foreplay–maybe the hormones weren’t all bad after all.

“Yes, love?”

You turned your head to look at him and he rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips inches from yours. His voice was steady, but you knew it had been just as long for him as it had been for you, and you were tired of waiting.

“Baby, I need you,” you breathed out.

“Fuck, okay,” Gwilym groaned. “Do, uh…do you want me to use a condom?”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” you said, and he laughed breathlessly; true, very true. “You’re all good, Gwil.”

“Okay,” he said so softly you almost didn’t hear it, then pressed his lips to yours. He took himself in his hand and lined up, and God, he was right there, you could _feel_  him–but then he stopped. “By the way,” he said, his voice strained, “This is fine, I mean–we won’t hurt the baby, if you were wondering,” he said abruptly, and although it was good of him to be mindful of that, you nearly swore from how badly you just wanted him  _inside you already._

You stopped kissing him and looked him in the eye. “How’d you know that?” you asked– _you_ knew that, otherwise you wouldn’t be naked in the first place, but how’d he know that?

“I asked the doctor,” Gwilym replied, then kissed you deeply again. “At the last appointment.” Another kiss. “While you were peeing.”

“You asked Dr. Harrison if sex would hurt the baby, just in case we did it?”

“Maybe,” said Gwilym, looking a bit sheepish, but more eager to just get back to the task at hand. “Did that ruin the mood?” he asked, sounding dejected. You shook your head in amusement.

“Just fuck me, you goof,” you laughed, and he did exactly that.

Gwilym’s bedroom wasn’t chilly anymore. The air was hot, heavy, and thick. You were lying in a heap, tangled in each other, and he stroked your hair gently as your breathing and heart rate started to return to normal. Maybe it was just because you were pregnant and maybe it was because even so, he’d done everything he could to satisfy you, then satisfy you again, but you were absolutely spent.

You both dozed off for a few minutes, or maybe hours–you had no idea what time it was anymore, but when lying in your lover’s arms, something as trivial as time didn’t matter one bit.  You were so blissfully happy, and Gwilym was rubbing your arm, and everything was perfect and heady and wonderful. You sighed and snuggled closer, not caring how sweaty you both were or how badly the sheets now needed a wash.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You said softly as you traced abstract patterns on Gwilym’s bare chest. His heartbeat kept up a muffled, steady rhythm under your ear and you tilted your head up to look at him in the dim light. He looked so lovely in the semi-darkness, his eyes hooded and heavy with a post-sex haze as he looked down at you.

“Sure. I love secrets,” he replied, and you had to bite your lip to contain your smile. You nuzzled against his neck and let a little giggle escape.

“What? Tell me,” Gwilym chuckled and thumbed the apple of your cheek where it bloomed with your impish smile.  You looked at him with a gleam in your eyes.

“I asked the doctor too.”

Gwilym laughed, one hand combing through his sweaty hair and the other holding you flush against him. He drew you closer as you both began to drift off into lovers’ sleep, feeling the softness of your skin under his fingertips. He fell harder for you every single day and in every way. His heart kept surprising him with how much love it could really hold, and he was honestly quite overwhelmed by all that had just happened, but in the best way imaginable. There was nowhere else he’d rather be, and no one else he’d rather give himself over to as he just had to you. 

He would live forever if it meant infinite moments like this, he really would.

* * *

## 🖤

##  **I’d love to hear your thoughts, you lovely people :’)**


	12. Chapter 12

##  **DECEMBER 31 – NEW YEAR’S EVE – 34.5 WEEKS**

There was always a sort of emptiness that seemed to settle over the world as holiday season drew to a close; New Year’s Eve was like a last hurrah. The snow was turning gray on the curbs, and normally at this time of year you’d feel like you had nothing to look forward to until the sun grew warm again and the ice melted. However, with the start the new year, the end of your pregnancy was drawing closer by the second, and the anticipation was killing you.

New Year’s Eve was usually a frivolous affair for you; in years past, you always either threw a party yourself, or went out with your girlfriends and spent the holiday at whatever bar charged the least for cover. You’d find a midnight kiss, and if you couldn’t, you’d kiss your bottle of champagne, but this year was much simpler and, you decided, much more special. You were spending it at your apartment, but with much less company than in years past.

“T-minus three hours,” Gwilym said excitedly as he brought a bowl of popcorn and a shopping bag over to the living room. “For you,” he said, reaching into the bag and tossing you a paper horn and a New Year’s Eve crown. You chuckled and put the silly thing on; it matched the one Gwilym was already wearing, and you had to admire his enthusiasm. He put down the party knick-knacks he got at the convenience store and you pulled another crown out of the bag, then stretched it over your stomach.

“You’re too much,” Gwilym laughed when he saw what you’d done. “Hold it right there.” He pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of you on the couch, a crown on your head and one on your bump, as you made a less-than-amused face at the camera and blew your party horn with a half-hearted  _tooooot_.  “Can I post that?” Gwilym asked, turning his phone so you could see. You had to laugh—the photo perfectly captured all your moods as you went into your final month of pregnancy, and you nodded.

“Tag me as the bowl of popcorn,” you snickered, and when the Instagram notification popped up on your phone, you saw that he’d done exactly that.  _My NYE cutie_ , he’d captioned it, and you smiled despite feeling about as cute as a sack of dirt.

Gwilym went over to the window and peeked outside at the street a few floors below your apartment. He shivered; it sure was cold by your windows and he made a mental note to get you a few draft stoppers.

“It’s snowing again,” he said as he came over to the couch. “Let me in!”

You folded the edge of your blanket back so Gwilym could get under it as well, and he shifted around until he was comfortably situated.

“How are you so warm all the time?” you asked, snuggling closer to him. He was like a damn radiator and you slipped your hands underneath his sweater for even more warmth.  He shivered at your touch and chuckled, shrugging.

“Just a toasty guy, I guess.”

“Hmm, lucky me,” you said happily, breathing in his smell as he flicked through the comments flooding his recent post. He put his phone down after answering a couple texts from Joe, then flicked on the TV.

“Do you want to watch all the New Year’s nonsense or throw on a movie until it’s actually time?” he asked. You decided on a movie—you had been feeling stressed enough lately just with baby anticipation, and you didn’t really want to watch three hours of chaotic Times Square coverage on top of that. All you could think about when you saw all those people packed into the square was an article you read about how lots of NYC NYE-goers wore diapers so they wouldn’t have to leave their spot. Gross.  Then, you remembered you’d be both changing and probably wearing diapers too in a few weeks, and figured it was best not to judge.

Gwilym found a decent enough New Year’s Eve film on Netflix, though, and you settled in to watch with your foil crowns still on your heads. A brainless rom-com was exactly what you needed and you sighed contentedly. You made it about halfway through the film before your comfort turned into frustration, though; you couldn’t find a good position to sit in. Even when you curled up just the way you always did, you felt the need to move, and you could tell Gwilym was getting a little annoyed by your constant fidgeting.

“Do you mind? I’m trying to watch Michelle Pfeiffer fall in love,” Gwilym said teasingly.

“Sorry, can’t get— _ugh!_ —can’t get comfy,” you whined.

“Well, you’re all twisted like a pretzel,” Gwilym laughed, looking at how your legs were crossed over each other where you had them outstretched on the coffee table, yet you were still trying to somehow lie on your side. “Here,” he said, and got up from the couch.

He walked over to the TV and angled it clockwise, then sat back down and helped you move so instead of trying to balance your heels on the table, you were sitting lengthwise on the couch. You could still see the screen thanks to the way he moved it, but now no part of your body was left unsupported, and you were able to put a couple pillows behind your back.

“Better?” Gwilym asked as you stretched your legs over his lap so that the backs of your thighs rested on his left leg and you could lean your knees against his chest.

“You’re a saint,” you said thankfully, and Gwilym put the blanket back over you both, smiling at the way it draped over your prominent belly.  He let one hand rest on your bump and with the other, he massaged each of your ankles in turn—he remembered you’d said they were swollen earlier.

Twenty minutes later, Gwilym looked over to see your reaction to one of the many lame jokes in the movie, only to notice that you were grimacing, and not in an  _oh-god-that-was-so-corny_ way.

“Alright, Y/N?”

“Just achy,” you said; no matter how many pillows you used to bolster yourself up, you could still feel a dull pain in your lower back and hips. You knew that was to be expected the closer and closer you got to your due date, but jeez, couldn’t you at least have New Year’s without pain?

“What would help?” Gwilym asked kindly, trailing his hands up and down your legs. You sighed and leaned back, still frowning.

“I don’t  _know_.”

“Want a massage?” He asked, and the offer was tempting, but it would also mean you had to move. You shook your head and breathed out sharply through your nose, trying not to fidget too much and accidentally give Gwilym a knee to the face. “Then I don’t know how to help you, love,” he said sympathetically as he slipped one arm between your legs and sort of hugged your right leg to his chest.

You  _hmphed_ in frustration, both at how uncomfortable you were and also at how nice it felt the way Gwilym was holding you. In fact, as he absentmindedly trailed his fingers up and down your thigh while keeping his eyes on the movie…well, it felt very nice.  You sighed and closed your eyes, letting out a soft little moan by accident.

“Enjoying yourself?” Gwilym asked, and you opened your eyes lazily and saw that he was smirking.

“I…may have thought of something,” you said, embarrassed at how needy you sounded.

“Oh?”

“Could you—?” you glanced down between your legs and Gwilym raised both eyebrows at you, though he didn’t seem entirely surprised by where your mind was going.

“I thought you didn’t want a massage,” he pestered, but his hand was already drifting towards your inner thighs.

“Changed my mind,” you said. “I think this kind could be very—” you gasped as he cupped his hand between your legs— “Beneficial. Please?” you breathed out, looking up at Gwilym and imploring him to help out.

“Of course I’ll do that for you,” he chuckled, looking at you lovingly. “Bum up,” he coaxed with a single nod, and helped hold your hips up long enough for you to shimmy your pajama pants down.  “And let’s keep this on,” he said as he put the blanket back over you, noticing how your legs had immediately become covered in goose bumps when he took your pants off.

You settled back against the pillows with your left hand hanging off the side of the couch and your right outstretched, gripping Gwilym’s bicep. He was gently massaging the area right below the swell of your belly, where it ached the most—it was almost like having period cramps, but you knew it was just from the strain of being so pregnant for so long. Slowly, he moved his hand lower, grazing your inner thighs with his knuckles and then squeezing each one lightly in his hand. You sighed and let your eyelids flutter shut, then opened them again when he suddenly stopped.

“I’m just gonna—” he reached over to pause the movie and you started laughing.

“Is that because you’re so invested in the plot or because you don’t want to hear Robert de Niro in the background?” you asked.

“Bit of both,” Gwilym admitted, then resumed right where he left off. “Relax, sweetheart, you’re all tense,” he said softly, and his voice alone helped melt a good amount of your tension and discomfort away.

Gwilym gently pressed two fingers against your center over the thin fabric of your underwear, and you were even more glad for the blanket when you remembered you’d put on your absolute worst pair that morning. He traced small, gentle circles on your clit and you bit your lip, eager for more of his touch, which he was just as eager to provide. You could feel yourself getting more and more turned on with each skillful brush of his fingers and Gwilym’s lips parted slightly in an admiring smile when he felt the way your body responded to him.

He looked at you for the green light before carefully working your panties towards your knees; he didn’t bother taking them all the way off—didn’t have to. This would do, and at last he pressed his thumb against your clit, nudging the bud back and forth as your breathing grew heavier. All you could focus on was the pleasure as he kept working on you, spreading your wetness around until your pussy was slick and he could tease you with his middle finger without fear of hurting you at all.

“Can’t believe you’re so wet for me,” he said; it sounded less filthy and more adoring, and you grabbed his arm tighter as he pushed his middle finger inside you slowly.

“Fuck, Gwil,” you moaned softly as he curled it against you, massaging your front wall while all the while keeping his thumb right on your clit. He was giving you just enough stimulation to keep you wanting more, without overwhelming you or pushing you too close to the edge.

“I love seeing you like this,” Gwilym murmured, “Won’t ever get tired of it.”

You smiled weakly and your mouth fell open into a perfect “O” when he gently pushed his ring finger in along with his middle, curling them both in a way that made your whole body clench; heat washed over you like a full-body flush and you mewled, rocking your hips as best you could while trying to keep your eyes trained on Gwillym’s. You could see how focused he was, so determined and committed to your pleasure.

Since your first time together after the baby shower, you’d explored what you could and it was always exhilarating finding new ways to treat each other, but lying back and knowing that Gwilym was essentially getting off on getting  _you_ off was a whole new level of bliss.

“Can you take another?” he asked huskily, using his thumb to press down harder on your clit while he continued to pull at your front wall. He paused and spread his fingers out inside you just slightly; you moaned at the pleasurable feeling and nodded.

“I’m having a baby in two weeks, I better be able to handle more than a couple fingers or we’re all in trouble,” you breathed out, and although you couldn’t fully roll your hips, you were able to rock them back and forth against Gwilym’s hand, which felt heavenly.

He moaned as he added yet another finger and angled his hand differently. Your head fell back against the pillow and you felt your legs twitch; it wasn’t even that you felt all that full—sex was much more satisfactory in that sense—but he’d flicked his wrist so the heel of his hand rubbed right against your clit; combined with the pressure of his fingers working you towards an orgasm from the inside, you were practically incoherent.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he said–no,  _whined_ –and moved his fingers faster, cursing under his breath at just how easily he could thrust them in and out of you; you were so wet for him, just because of him, and that made him feel on top of the world.

“I’m almost there, baby, you’re incredible,” you moaned, bringing your left hand up and biting your knuckle to keep from making the noises you so desperately wanted to. Somehow, though, you didn’t think pissing off the neighbors would be the best way to kick off a new year.

“Can you cum for me, sweetheart, can I feel you let go?” Gwilym urged you, his voice strained and his breathing uneven; you felt his body shifting slightly underneath you. With one last perfectly placed curl of his fingers, you felt the knot behind your navel start to unravel, and it was unlike any orgasm you’d had before. Instead of the usual, quick burst of pleasure, this euphoric feeling flooded your limbs slowly and spread all the way down your arms and legs to where it finally crackled in your fingertips and toes. Even ten seconds after you’d come down, you were still on a high, and breathing heavily, as was Gwilym.

“Oh—oh my God,” you managed, and Gwilym looked down at you with wide eyes, nodding. He’d never seen you cum so hard—well, he’d only seen you cum a few times so far, but never like  _that_. He slowly pulled his fingers from you and wiped them off on a tissue, his hand shaking a bit from so much sudden use.

“Thanks,” you squeaked out as he helped you with your pants. It occurred to you that he might need a little help of his own, but before you could suggest anything, he got up and hurried to the bedroom. You stared after him, confused, then shrugged and got up to pee since clearly you were taking a little break anyway. You returned to see that Gwilym had come back out a wearing a different pair of sweatpants, and you covered your mouth to conceal a giggle.  _Oh_.

As you sat back down, Gwilym prayed you wouldn’t mention his little outfit change; he was embarrassed and more than a little flustered— _and 36, for fuck’s sake, not some horny teenager!_

“You good?” you asked, an amused tone in your voice as you rearranged the blanket innocently.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gwilym replied, though the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face let you know he wasn’t actually upset.

“Talk about what?” you teased him, feigning ignorance, but after a playful eye roll from him, you let the matter drop and curled up next to him when you got back, like nothing had happened. “Thanks again for the orgasm,” you said bluntly, and Gwilym chuckled.

“Happy to help,” he said sweetly, then gave you an innocent kiss as if he hadn’t just made you come apart quite literally at his fingertips. “We’ve got forty minutes left in this silly thing, shall we?” he asked, grabbing the remote again.

“We shall,” you replied, feeling much, much more comfortable in every way.  You also loved that you and Gwilym were at the point where you could be completely open and honest about what you wanted and needed. A quick mid-movie finger bang? No biggie. You loved it, and made a mental note to return the favor the first feasible chance you got.

The movie wrapped up at about 11:45, and in what was truly an amusing coincidence, you and Gwilym both groaned when you saw there were still fifteen minutes to go before the ball dropped.

“Fuck, I’m ready for bed,” Gwilym said, running a hand through his hair. “When did we get so boring?”

“You say boring, I say smart,” you said through a yawn. “We’ve got the best view from right here, we’re already in our pajamas,  _and_ we won’t be hungover tomorrow!” you said. “Can’t say the same for Ben, have you seen his snaps?”

Gwilym shook his head and you took out your phone to re-watch Ben’s story; he and Joe were at the same party, which, by the looks of it, had no intention of ending before dawn. You both laughed as you watched a video—Lord knows who filmed it, probably Lucy—of the two of them (plus Rami) facing off, all trying and failing to toss strings of party beads and land them successfully around each other’s necks. The following video was hard to make out since Ben was shaking the camera so much, but you heard Rami shouting ‘shot for shot!’ in the background, so you got the gist.

“Yeah, they’ll feel that one tomorrow,” you chuckled, but you were happy the guys were having fun.

“That reminds me, speaking of ‘alcohol,’” Gwilym said, then got up to go to your kitchen. “Where do you keep your flutes?” he called over his shoulder.

“Top shelf, two over from the sink,” you replied. You smiled when he returned with two champagne glasses and a bottle of sparkling cider in lieu of actual champagne. He popped the cork and poured each of you a glass.

“I know it’s not the wild New Year’s Eve you’re used to,” he said, “But I’m glad I’m here with you.”

“Likewise, hun,” you smiled back, and clinked glasses with him.

“Don’t drink yet, though!” Gwilym warned, and you stopped before you could sip—that’s right, that was his annual rule. Gwilym wasn’t always superstitious; this was really the only irrational belief he had. For good luck in the coming year, he always said you had to wait until  _after_ the clock struck midnight to drink, and apparently that meant even when it wasn’t actual alcohol.

Finally, the big countdown began; Ryan Seacrest looked like he was freezing his nuts off on the TV screen as he led the oodles of people from 10 down to 1, but even though you were glad not to be in the crowd, it was impossible not to feel joy when the confetti flew and the ball reached the base of the pole. As Auld Lang Syne began, barely audible over the ruckus, you turned to look at Gwilym. He supported you with a hand around your back as you automatically leaned in and kissed him—however many times you had cringed at couples doing this same thing in the past, it felt really nice to have someone you actually loved just sitting there, ready for smoochin’.

Yes, as the clock struck midnight and January began, you were perfectly content to be at your apartment, with a glass of bubbly cider in your hand and Gwilym’s lips on yours. You broke apart a moment later and, noticing that his crown was askew, you reached up and fixed it for him—holy fuck, you had both been wearing them the whole time… _the whole time_ , you realized with a snort of laughter. You each took a celebratory sip of cider and kissed once more, adding a sweet apple tang to the mix. You pressed your forehead against his, a sleepy yet satisfied smile on your face.

“Move in with me,” Gwilym whispered suddenly, with his lips still just inches from yours and his thumb tracing your lower lip.

“What?” you asked, unsure if you’d heard him right.  

“Will you move in with me?” Gwilym asked again; he was one hundred percent serious.  “I’d really like it if you did, I—I’ve got the space, your lease is almost up, and with Rosie almost here, it makes sense; I was going to ask you after she was born, but—”

“Yes,” you said, cupping his jaw, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that too, I think you’re right.” Gwilym looked very relieved. “Might as well all be in the same place if we’re going to be a real family, yeah?”

Gwilym nodded and held up his glass in a toast. “To being a real family,” he said with a smile that was certainly an excellent way to start a new year.

##  **ONE WEEK LATER – JANUARY 7 – 35.5 WEEKS**

“These are the last few, then the microwave, and we should be set,” you said, brushing your hands off on your jeans as Ben crouched down and picked up one of the last cardboard boxes off the floor of your apartment.

“What’ve you got in here, rocks?” Ben groaned, his muscles straining with the effort of picking up the box that contained all your books.

“Just my sex toys,” you joked, and Ben stared blankly at you for a minute, then shrugged nonchalantly and hoisted it up so he could get both hands underneath. “We owe you one, seriously,” you said gratefully as you got the door for Ben, and Gwilym nodded from where he was standing on a step-stool to get the last of the tacks out of your wall.

“Not a problem,” Ben called from down the hallway as he elbowed the button to call the elevator. The bell for the lift dinged a moment later and Ben disappeared inside. You sighed and turned back around, facing your very empty apartment.

“Just how many of these did you use?” Gwilym asked as he stepped down onto the ground and held out his hand; it was full of thumb tacks.

You shrugged and held out a Ziploc for him to dump them into. “Had to keep my Christmas lights up somehow, and duct tape would have been far less chic,” you explained.

“Yeah, let’s just hope you can get your security deposit back with all the holes in the wall,” Gwilym said, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the blank walls. “Phew.”

You nodded in agreement; your apartment looked quite strange without all your things in it. Over the last couple of days, you’d been steadily moving your essentials—clothes, certain furnishings, and some decorations—into Gwilym’s apartment, and the rest went into a storage unit downtown for the time being. You’d enlisted Ben’s help—he knew that while you were able to put the small stuff in yours of Gwilym’s car to make trips to and from his place, you weren’t much help when it came to the bulkier boxes, and Gwilym couldn’t do it all on his own.  

Ben saved you time, and Joe had generously offered his pickup for the furniture so you wouldn’t have to spend money renting a UHaul. Both men refused to let you pay them for their assistance, but you were already planning on taking them out for a nice dinner as a way to say thank you.

It was odd, seeing the apartment you’d lived in for nearly three years look so bland. You’d thought about moving out several times before either to get closer to work or just to have more space, but you could never justify paying more in rent.  However, when Gwilym asked you to move in with him on New Year’s Eve, you finally had a real reason to say goodbye to your humble abode. Besides, your lease expired with the turn of the new year, so it was just a matter of not renewing it, and getting your name on Gwilym’s lease instead.  Your landlord wasn’t thrilled that you’d given such short notice, but she understood that your situation was pretty much the definition of extenuating.

“It looks smaller,” Gwilym commented as he came to stand beside you. He put an arm loosely around you shoulders.

“It does, doesn’t it?” you said, “You’d think it would look bigger, but—how’d I stand such a tiny place for so long?” You shook your head in wonder.

“Well, it  _was_ only you,” Gwilym reasoned. You smiled up at him; you knew what he meant. Moving in together was a natural next step; even his larger apartment was bound to feel a little cramped when two became three, but you couldn’t wait. You tilted your head up towards him, a clear sign you wanted a kiss. He obliged, then plucked a stray eyelash from your cheek when he pulled away.

“I’m glad you said yes,” he said.

“To moving in, you mean?”

“Yeah, I just figured you practically live there already anyway, so—and I know we’ve been moving kind of fast, but—”

“Gwil, I got pregnant with our daughter before we had our first kiss. I’m not all that pressed about the order of things,” you laughed, reaching an arm around his waist and squeezing the softness of his hip.  “So long as you let me put up my NSYNC poster.”

Gwilym hissed in a breath and narrowed his eyes at you. “Must you?” he asked dramatically, looking at where the framed print lay propped against the wall.

“It’s  _signed_ , Gwil. And they’re a good band!”

“Not arguing that, it’s just—so large.”

“Yeah, so you can see all the flaws they don’t have,” you said pointedly, and Gwilym couldn’t help but give in.

“Fine,” he relented with a smile, “You can put it up. But not in the bedroom, okay, the last thing I want is accidental eye contact with JT when I c—”

“What else can I grab?” you heard Ben ask as he walked back through the open door. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold outside, but he was breathing heavily from hauling ass back up the stairs. You gave Gwilym a smile just for the two of you as a way to finish your previous conversation, and patted his chest before walking over to Ben.

“If you just get the microwave, Gwil and I can manage the rest,” you said, surveying what was left. “Then I just have to turn in my key and—” you took a deep breath, realizing you were really about to leave the place you’d called home for so long. It wasn’t a sad feeling, per se—you just felt like you were leaving a bit of yourself behind as you thought of all the happy memories you’d had at your apartment.

“Hey, mate, let’s get these out to the hall,” Ben said suddenly, clapping a hand on Gwilym’s back before he lifted your microwave off the kitchen counter. He was looking at you with a sort of sympathy in his eyes and Gwilym nodded and gathered the last few things.  Ben winked at you as he shut your front door to give you a minute by yourself.

Gwilym set the boxes and poster down and braced one hand against the wall outside your door.

“What–?” he started to ask Ben, who shook his head.

“Just give her a second,” he said simply, then at Gwilym’s slightly confused look, Ben shrugged. “When I was a kid and we moved, I wanted to walk around the house one more time before we left and I didn’t get to. I think she’s got the same feeling now. Just give her a second.”

Gwilym nodded, realizing what Ben meant. Wordlessly, he reached up and squeezed his friend’s shoulder appreciatively. Ben smiled down at the ground and nudged one of the boxes with his foot.

“Just think, when you guys get a house, it’ll be this, but ten times worse,” Ben laughed. “I will want you pay me for that one.”

Gwilym chuckled along, though he shook his head as well.

“Let’s just have the baby first,” he said, and Ben nodded.

Inside, you took your time walking back through each room; you tried to convince yourself you were looking for anything you might have forgotten to pack or lights you’d left on, but you just wanted to look around the place one last time. You couldn’t believe how much had happened there, especially in the last few months. There were little scuff marks where your couch used to be—that was where you’d told Gwilym you would have his baby. Hell, you’d had your first real fight with Gwilym right here in the kitchen, although that was one memory you were quite happy was in the past.

You wandered down the hall, poked your head into your bedroom, and then the bathroom.

“Hey, you made me puke in here,” you said with a hand on your stomach. “Yuck,” you added, then shut the bathroom door. The more you walked around, though, the more you realized that while you did have good memories at your flat, there were so many more, better memories yet to be made when you moved on—and moved in with Gwilym. Home wasn’t a place so much as a person, and you knew wherever he was, so would be where you belonged.

You completed your stroll around the apartment, but by the time you got back to the kitchen and rescued an overlooked fridge magnet from being left behind, you felt more at peace than melancholy. You jingled your keys in your hand one last time before opening the door and joining Ben and Gwilym back in the hallway.

“All set?” Gwilym asked, and you nodded. You reached inside the doorway to flick off your foyer light for the last time, then let the door swing shut with a definitive  _click_.

“Yep,” you said. Gwilym took a step forward and gave you a chaste kiss on the temple.

“Come on,” he said, “Let’s go home.”

##  **ONE WEEK  LATER – JANUARY 14 – ABOUT 37 WEEKS**

“ _Rude_ ,” you laughed, reaching up to pull off a paper mustache Gwilym had taped to your NSYNC poster.

“I was just trying to make it look better!”

“Sure you were,” you laughed.

You’d almost fully moved into Gwilym’s apartment, which really just meant getting all your clothes sorted and your choice decorations in place. Gwilym already had furniture, appliances, and upholstery, so except for your favorite chair and your bar stools, all your big items were in storage. The apartment was still very much his style, but you loved the modern look of it. However, Gwilym had encouraged you to add a few “Y/N touches,” since it was going to be not just his, but your home now as well.  He didn’t mind the standing lamps or art prints, but he wasn’t crazy about that damn poster, even though you’d put it in the hallway and not in the bedroom, per his wishes.

“I think you love JT more than me,” Gwilym pouted.

“Lies,” you said, grabbing the last of your sweaters from one of your boxes. “Last time I checked it was your baby I’m having, not his. And last time I checked,” you added with a sultry lilt to your voice, “It’s your bed I’m in every night.”

“Our bed,” Gwilym corrected you, slapping you lightly on the butt as you walked by him and towards the master.

“How’s this,” you called out, then lowered your voice when Gwilym came to the doorway to hear you better, “We keep the poster up, but just until Rosie’s born. Once she’s here, all I want to see around this place are family photos anyway,” you said honestly, and Gwilym’s face immediately softened.

“Deal,” he whispered. You kissed him on your way out of the room after you finished filling the drawers he’d designated as yours.

He followed you back out into the living room and just watched as you bustled around, tossing a couple more pillows of yours onto the couch and making sure the artsy lamp you put in the corner was working. Some men might whine about having a girlfriend move in and start decorating, but Gwilym couldn’t be happier. Whenever you weren’t there, he always wished you were, and although his place was neat, tidy, and trendy, it had lacked a real homey feel until you moved in.   _Family photos._ He was stuck on those two words and shook his head in wonder.

He glanced up towards the bookshelf in the corner; there was already a collection of photos of the two of you there from across the years—you and Gwilym at your graduation, one from the mud volleyball tournament you had entered just for an excuse to get dirty, and most recently, a portrait of the two of you, both with your hands on your giant stomach. It was a little cheesy, you both thought, but you knew down the road you’d kick yourselves if you didn’t have at least one photograph during your pregnancy.  He couldn’t wait to add more to the collection—more that featured a tiny little human you were both just dying to meet.

“Help me with this?” you asked, bending over and trying to drag the heavy box of books across the floor. Gwilym rushed over.

“Jesus,  _careful_ ,” he said. He knew you were still a capable human being, but you really shouldn’t be trying to move any kind of heavy load when you were so far along. “I’ve got it.” He hoisted the box up onto the couch so you could more easily unpack it and line the books up on the shelf, then set to work helping you. He found that even the most mundane tasks were thrilling when they were with you, then promptly scolded himself for being such a sap.

By the time you and Gwilym finished getting the last of your things unpacked and eaten dinner, it was well past eight o’clock.

“How are you feeling?” Gwilym asked. You gave him a tired glare as if to say  _“seriously?”_ and he laughed. “That good, huh?”

“I’m just ready for her to be out,” you said, holding your stomach with both hands. “I feel huge and lumpy.”

“You are huge and lumpy,” Gwilym said, and you smiled weakly; only he could get away with teasing you the way he did, and it was all because you knew it came from a place of unconditional love. “And for the record, I think you look great, but I am also ready for that lump to be outside you.”

“I know you are,” you laughed, nodding towards the pile of supplies that had been sitting by the door for the last week.

Gwilym had had the idea—and it was a really good one—to make an emergency kit in case you had to make any sudden hospital trips. The two of you put together a whole arsenal—Boppy pillow, blankets, onesies, bottles, a change of clothes, pads, a stuffed animal, and several other essentials—and Gwilym packed it all neatly into the baby carrier you’d bought at Plan Baby. He’d even packed rubber gloves and pain medication in case you didn’t make it to the hospital when it was time, but you prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“Just have to be prepared,” Gwilym whispered. “We’re so close, Y/N.”

“I know. Let’s write her something!” you said, suddenly inspired.

“What?”

“Like a letter. It was in that Mommy Life magazine I read. Some parents write letters to their babies before they’re born for them to read when they’re older. Want to?”

“Yeah,” Gwilym said enthusiastically, and you reached over to the coffee table to open the drawer in the side and pull out a pen and notepad. “Oh no,” Gwilym laughed when he saw the only available stationary. “We can’t write letters to our daughter on a pad from Lenny’s Clam Shack.”

“Got another option?” you questioned, your pen at the ready.

Gwilym laughed and shook his head. “Fine, you can explain that one to her down the road.”

“Happily,” you said with a grin as you handed him a few sheets, then began writing underneath the restaurant logo—a fish with a hook through its tail. “Now, no peeking. We each write one, and we can trade when we’re done.”

“Alright,” Gwilym said softly, thinking about what to say. You both worked on your separate letters until you were satisfied with how they turned out, then swapped papers and read what the other had written. Gwilym’s handwriting—all capital letters, but some written larger than others to indicate actual capitalization—filled nearly three of the little pages.

 _“Dear Rhosyn,”_ you read to yourself,  _“We are so close to meeting you—9 days to be exact, but who’s counting? Alright, it’s me, I’m counting.”_ You chuckled as you continued reading, hearing the words in Gwilym’s voice in your head. You absentmindedly reached over to squeeze his thigh.

_“To be honest, I’m not quite sure how to put into words how excited I am to meet you, but I thought I’d give it my best shot. You won’t understand for quite some time, but you didn’t come around in the most traditional way—we’ll have that talk when you’re older, but as I write this now, I just want you to know that I already love you more than life itself._

 

_You’ve already changed both me and your mum in profound ways you can’t imagine yet, and I know that you will continue to have a positive impact on our lives every moment of every day. It’s my duty as your dad to do the same thing for you. I promise to love you, protect you, and do everything I can to help you grow, although feel free to stay little as long as you like. I promise to believe in you. I promise to encourage you and always be your biggest fan, to hold you when you need me to, but to let you go when you don’t. I don’t doubt that by the time you’re old enough to read this, letters will be a thing of the past and Lenny’s Clam Shack will probably be out of business—the chowder was never any good there anyway. But Rosie, the meaning in these words will never become obsolete._

 

_I have loved you since before you even existed, and being your father is already the joy of my life. I adore you unconditionally, my little rose, and I’ll see you soon._

 

_Love,_

_Dad_

 

“Gwil,” you choked out, reaching for a tissue. “Are you kidding me? That was beautiful,” you cried as you dabbed at your eyes and tried to stop yourself from becoming a human fire hydrant.

Gwilym was crying too, and snatched his own tissue. “I mean every word,” he said.

“The chowder really is shit there, isn’t it?” you said through your tears, and you both burst out laughing.

“The worst,” Gwilym agreed with a sniffle.

“God, my letter seems silly now,” you said, and blew your nose.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Gwilym said thickly as he began to read what you’d written. You leaned against him and followed along over his shoulder.

“‘ _My little love_ ,’” Gwilym read the beginning out loud, smiling, “I like that,” he said, then kissed your forehead and read on in his head.

“ _My little love – Words can’t summarize all I’ve felt the past almost-nine months. It’s been a rollercoaster as we’ve gotten to know each other, hasn’t it? I have cherished every moment of feeling you grow inside me, even the tough parts—actually, especially the tough parts. I am forever grateful for the time we’ve already had together, and cannot wait for the time we’ve yet to have once I can finally hold you in my arms, look at your beautiful face, and see you for the first time. I can’t wait to hear you and to listen–whether it’s your first little cries, when you’ve got good news, or when you need advice, I’m all ears._

 

_There is so much I want to teach you, but that’s nothing compared to what you have already taught me, Rhosyn Lee. Thanks to you, I know love unlike anything I’ve felt before, and it’s because of you that your dad and I are as in love as we are—although, if I’m being honest, girl-to-girl, I think Dad and I liked each other long before you came into the picture! You are our greatest adventure, sweet girl, and we can’t wait to continue it when you come into the world.  I am so eagerly looking forward to watching you shine, and I hope that whenever you reflect on these words in the future, you know you always have been, and always will be loved._

 

_With every bit of my heart I can possibly give,_

_Your Mama_

 

Gwilym couldn’t even make a sound; his throat was too tight and his hands started trembling so badly that he had to put your letter down on the table so he wouldn’t accidentally tear it. He buried his face in his hands and started crying—you knew they were happy tears, but it still tugged at your heartstrings to see him so emotional. You put your left arm around his back and pressed your lips against his shoulder blade as his wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I love you so much,” he whispered shakily once he’d found his voice again. Then, he felt another wave of emotion and bowed his head, resting it in the crook of your shoulder and collarbone. You held him there, stroking his hair and rubbing his back; meanwhile, he splayed his left hand out on your stomach, just below your navel. He was whispering something to Rosie; you could feel the vibrations of his voice, and you reached to the side for the tissue box, which judging by the wet spot growing on your shirt, you’d need when again he straightened back up.

“Sorry,” he said when he sat up again.

“Better to get it all out now, right?” you joked with him, “Got to have your wits about you in a couple weeks.”

“Oh, I’ll be a mess then, too,” he said with a laugh, “You know I’m a crier.”

“Don’t ever change, love,” you said honestly, combing your fingers through his hair once more.

“I don’t think I can even if I wanted to,” Gwilym said softly, and you chuckled. “No, really, I can’t. I cried over Eight Below–”

“Everyone cries over Eight Below!”

“–Before the movie even started,” Gwilym finished, laughing, “The opening credits got me, Y/N, they got me good.”

You smiled and smoothed his hair back. “I love that you’re not afraid to cry,” you said truthfully, “and to be honest, if our little girl was born and you  _didn’t_  cry just as much as she probably will, I’d be a bit insulted,” you said, only half kidding. However, you knew with how much excitement had been building over the last few months, you’d definitely have a very watery Gwil on your hands come January 23. You couldn’t wait.

“Not to change the subject,” Gwilym said a moment later, “But I’m really feeling some Parks and Rec in bed right about now, how about you?”

“Ooh, kinky,” you couldn’t help but tease, “Are we roleplaying Ron and Tammy or do you just want me to talk dirty like I’m Perd Hapley?”

Gwilym burst out laughing and got to his feet, holding out a hand to help you up. “I was thinking more along the lines of cuddling with you and my laptop, but now I’m dying to hear the Perd voice,” he said with an intrigued, somewhat disgusted face. You smiled and stood up, keeping one of the throw blankets wrapped around your shoulders.

“Maybe one day,” you said mysteriously, heading towards the bedroom for some much needed Netflix before bed. “When you least expect it, Lee.”

You started dozing off midway through a Lil Sebastian-centric episode, try though you had to stay awake. The last thing you remembered before passing out entirely was Gwilym helping you situate your pregnancy pillow, then kissing you sleepily on the lips before turning out the lights. He’d lain down behind you as he did every night and with his strong arms acting like an additional blanket, for the first time in days, you fell asleep in moments.

Of course, though, it was too good to be true. You got maybe two hours of good sleep before waking up with a cramp in your leg. Gwilym had rolled over to his side of the bed and you glared daggers at him in the dark when you heard him snore–lucky bastard was such a deep sleeper that you were convinced an earthquake could rattle the whole city and he’d be shocked by the headline the next day.

You punched your pillow into a more comfortable lump and sighed as you stretched your leg until the pain went away. You closed your eyes again…only to be woken up half an hour later by Rosie doing gymnastics.

“Come on, seriously?” you whispered to her. “I love you, but really, now?” You reached over to the bedside table and tapped your phone so it lit up–it was nearly one in the morning. You had a few notifications, but you resisted the urge to check them; you knew that would only wake you up entirely, and you were desperate for at least a little more rest before the sun rose. Determined, you practically forced yourself back to sleep.

When you woke up a third time thanks to an odd swooping sensation you’d felt in your dream, you thought for a second you’d slept through the rest of the night. However, you knew that wasn’t the case as soon as you looked out the window. It was still pitch dark out.  _Fuck._

You carefully turned over onto your left side instead of your right, thinking maybe the change in position would help you sleep, then gasped so sharply you nearly choked on the breath. The sheets were wet. The sheets were soaking wet.   _No. Oh no, no no no_ , you thought, and somewhere along the way your thoughts turned into audible words.

“No no no,” you moaned, flinging back the duvet. There was water all over your thighs; it shone slightly in the weak moonlight that peered into the room.

“Gwil,” you whispered frantically, feeling around in the dark for him. “Gwilym,” you said, louder this time. You finally found him and your hand connected hard with his chest. Scared to move, you kept swatting him until he finally started to stir.

“Wha’s wrong?” he said sleepily.

“I think–I think my water broke,” you said, your voice shaking.

“What?” Gwilym mumbled again, rolling over to try and wrap an arm around you. He was still half asleep and figured you must be cold or something.

“My water broke,” you repeated, though the words didn’t really register even though you were the one saying them. It felt like someone had turned a faucet on right over your lap and you started shaking from nerves, and from what this meant. Gwilym rolled over and half into the wet spot on the bed, then yelped when he felt it and sat bolt upright.

“Holy shit,” he said as he instinctively moved away. He flicked on the lamp on his bedside table and looked at you, with your hands shaking and sleepy eyes still adjusting to the light, then to the dark spot on his sheets, and back to you.

“We’ve got to go,” he said, immediately leaping into action. He jumped out of bed and darted around the room, somehow putting on a pair of sweatpants, a crewneck, and his moccasins in the span of about ten seconds.

“Gwil–” you said weakly, still frozen in shock.  _This shouldn’t be happening yet._

“I know,” Gwilym said as he came over to your side of the bed and put a hand on your shoulder, “Come on, let me help you up, we’ve got to get to the hospital.”

You stood gingerly and winced–you didn’t think the pain you felt was a contraction, more just stiffness from being so suddenly jolted from sleep, but you couldn’t be sure. The clock on your side of the bed said 2:13am. Your legs were wet, everything was wet and you were in a haze—with Gwilym’s help, you put on a dry pair of pants and a fuzzy bathrobe, then you turned your attention back to the bed.

“What are you doing?” Gwilym whispered as you started gathering up the soiled bedding.

“Your sheets—they’re all soaked—let me just toss them in the wash,” you said, then felt Gwilym’s hands, warm and steady on your waist.

“Y/N, we have to  _go_.”

“But the sheets–”

“We’ll get them later, love, right now we have bigger things to worry about, okay?” He gently held your arms still and you turned to look him in the eye, shaking from head to toe.

“It’s—it’s not time,” you said weakly, your heart hammering. There were still nine days until your due date, it wasn’t  _time_ yet—

“Y/N,” Gwilym said gently but firmly, “It’s time. It’s happening,” he said with an encouraging nod. “I know you can do this, sweetheart, but we’ve got to have you do it safely, so let’s you down to the car.”

You sniffed and nodded, still fearful, but instinct and common sense won out and you let him help you out of the apartment. Gwilym draped your coat over your shoulders as you slowly walked into to the foyer, one hand on the wall and the other on your stomach. He grabbed the pre-assembled birth kit on the way out the door and slung the baby carrier onto one arm so he could support you as you made your way out of the building, breathing heavily the whole way.

“Almost there,” he said as you reached the garage level and Gwilym threw an arm out in front of the elevator door to stop it from closing. He walked you over to the car as fast as you could safely go and opened the passenger side. “Made it,” he said proudly, and you groaned, feeling a twinge of pain in your abdomen.  _Not yet you hadn’t._

Gwilym slid into the driver’s seat and pulled his keys from his pocket. Just as he was about to stick them in the ignition, you reached over and grabbed his wrist.

“I’m scared,” you said, “I know I can do it, but I’m scared.”

“Yeah, me too,” Gwilym replied, and somehow, knowing that you were both feeling the same things helped calm you down. You tried to focus on your breathing; your mind was going a mile a minute. You’d read all about this moment. Just because your water broke didn’t mean you’d have contractions right away, but they could still start any minute now, but then again maybe not, every pregnancy was different…that’s what the books all said…but even though it was early, it shouldn’t be too early, it should be fine, right? She would be okay, you had to believe she’d be okay…

You heard Gwilym start the engine and he backed out of his spot so slowly you almost wanted to urge him to go faster, but you knew he just wanted to be safe.  

“GPS says 25 minutes,” Gwilym said, and you almost missed the shake in his voice. Almost. “Think you can hang in there 25 minutes?”

You nodded, still taking deep breaths and holding onto the handle set into the ceiling of the car. You turned to look at Gwil and quite literally put on a brave face.

“Yeah,” you said, “Let’s go have a baby.”

##  **OH MY GOD OKAY, IT’S HAPPENING!!!!**


	13. Chapter 13

##  **JANUARY 15** **th** **, 3:05 a.m.**

“Full name, please?” The nurse sounded incredibly calm, almost too calm for Gwilym’s liking.

“Gwilym Lee,” he answered weakly. His voice was wrought with concern and residual sleepiness. It felt odd and surreal to be standing in the hospital at three in the morning; everything was doused in fluorescent light as if it were the middle of the day, giving the place a pristine, almost eerie feel.  It was setting in now that you were really here—you could very well be giving birth soon, and it had caught you both completely off-guard.  Gwilym considered himself lucky that he remembered to put pants on before leaving, let alone that he remembered the birth kit on the way out the door.  He was standing with his arms full of baby gear, feeling like some kind of sleepy, very paternal superhero.

He didn’t feel very strong or fearless right now, though. He’d managed to keep his hands steady on the wheel even when you’d had your first contraction, but now he was starting to shake like a leaf.

“And your name, love?” the nurse asked you, her clipboard in hand.

“Y/N,” you managed; she’d asked the question at the same time you felt another contraction and your face scrunched up. Gwilym put a hand on your shoulder instinctively as you moaned in discomfort. “Ow, ow ow ow,” you breathed out slowly, trying to stay on top of the pain instead of letting it take over. “Oh boy, that was a good one,” you groaned once it had passed, but while Gwilym’s shoulders relaxed, you knew better than to think it was anything close to over.

“When did your contractions start?” the nurse asked kindly.

“On the drive over, maybe twenty minutes ago,” you answered.

“How far apart?”

“Um…I’m not sure,” you said honestly. You’d only had three so far, but had been so focused on just getting to the hospital that you hadn’t even attempted to time them. “Four, five minutes apart, maybe?” The nurse made a note on her clipboard and wrote down the time.

You took a deep breath; you’d read about needing to stay ahead of the contractions and mentally prepare for the next one; supposedly it would make the ordeal more bearable. Still, you couldn’t help but feel like you were Stretch Armstrong at the hands of a very aggressive toddler each time you felt another one.

“Alright, Y/N, this way please,” the nurse said, gesturing towards one of the small rooms off the hallway. “We’ve got to check your cervix, if you’re at least four centimeters dilated, we can admit you, alright, love?” she said comfortingly and you nodded. You entered the room and with a bit of help, you got situated in the chair so the nurse could take a look.

“Today’s your lucky day; you’re just about at 4,” she said once she had looked, then she smiled and motioned outside the door for someone to bring in a wheelchair for you.  “Let’s get you on in.”

Another nurse entered the room with a chair and helped you sit down in it.

“Well, this is one way to start your morning,” the nurse said cheerfully, “My name is Pamela, Y/N, I’ll be looking after you, okay?”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” you said, feeling a bit more at ease now that you knew you had a bit of time—Rosie wasn’t going to plop out onto the floor at any second, and you could breathe a little easier.

“What’s happening?” Gwilym asked frantically and you smiled tiredly at him. You could tell the logical side of his brain must have clocked out, because he looked as if someone had told him you needed to head in for emergency surgery instead of just up one floor to a delivery room.

“It’s okay, Gwil,” you said, smiling up at him, “Can’t have the baby in here, can we?”

He shook his head and stepped out of the way to let Pamela wheel you towards the door.

“Mr. Lee, we’ve just got to get your wife to Labor and Delivery,” She explained, laying a comforting hand on his arm on the way out.  Gwilym nodded, not even bothering to correct her.

##  **LABOR & DELIVERY  
****4:25 a.m. – JANUARY 15** **th**

“Six centimeters dilated,” Pamela said with a smile as she straightened up and readjusted your gown so you were sufficiently covered. “We need ten to push, so you still have a bit of waiting to do. We’re keeping the doctor updated, and she’ll come in the moment you need her.”

You nodded in thanks and then lay back against the hospital bed. Pamela had been tending to you since you were moved to a delivery room, even though at the moment it was much ado about nothing. All you had to do was wait until you could safely give birth—easier said than done. You were now going on two hours of active labor, with each contraction getting a little more painful than the one before it. However, despite the clock showing that it was now nearly 4:30 in the morning, everything had all seemed to happen so fast—your water breaking, the first contractions, being admitted—and now it had come almost to a screeching halt. Well, a screeching halt full of immense pain, a slightly panicky boyfriend, and the steady beeping of several machines that you’d been hooked up to.

“How’re you feeling?” Gwilym said softly.

You looked down at your smock and all the tubes surrounding you. “A bit like a pincushion,” you said honestly, “And undignified,” you said as an afterthought.

“You’re the most dignified person I know,” Gwilym encouraged, “Even if you are peeing through a tube, and into a bag, which I can totally see happening, right now.”

“Gotta give you a good show,” you replied, pursing your lips at him like you were hamming it up for a camera.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Gwilym said, laughing weakly. He kept alternating between sitting in the chair by your bedside and pacing back and forth across the room. He was doing a fairly good job controlling his nerves, but there were little things only you noticed—his leg bouncing, the redness around his left thumbnail, which was the only one he ever bit, the cowlick he didn’t bother to fix—that let you know he was still jittery.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, “A book, an epidural?”

“I just want McDonald’s,” you said honestly, but you knew that wasn’t a possibility, not yet anyway. The doctors had made it clear you were to have nothing to eat or drink in case you needed anesthesia. They’d given you a cup of ice chips, but that was all you had to tide you over until whenever Rhosyn was born.

“I will buy you everything on the menu as soon as I’m allowed, I promise,” Gwilym assured you.

“I need McDonald’s and—oh, shoot, hold on,” you said, feeling another contraction start.

Your breathing became heavier again and you squeezed Gwilym’s hand so tightly his fingers started turning purple until the pain passed. Once it had, you relaxed back against the pillows, wincing—you were getting better at anticipating each contraction, but it wasn’t so much the literal pain of them that exhausted you so much as it was the length of each one. You’d always conceptualized contractions as a series of short squeezes, but they were lasting nearly 40 seconds each, and you were starting to see why some women asked for painkillers right away. However, you were listening to your body and knew you could hold out at least a little longer without it, if not all the way.

“Holy shit,” Gwilym breathed, looking at the monitor that tracked your contractions. The one you’d just had showed the highest spike yet, and Gwilym paled as he imagined how much that must have hurt. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded and held up your hand for a fist bump.

“Doing great. Made for this,” you said tiredly. “But I  _am_ going to kill you.”

“That’s fair,” Gwilym nodded as he helped fluff your pillows. He turned to check the time—it was still too early to justify calling friends and family to wake them up, and it could still be hours before you even had the baby. Besides, he had waited 35 years to have a child…he could handle waiting just a little while longer.

After gritting your teeth through several more contractions, with less time to rest between each one, Pamela came back over to your bedside to check the machines and give you some medicine to help the nausea. It helped, but only slightly, and you still felt like someone was over-inflating a basketball inside your lower abdomen. Even between contractions, there was still just ever-present  _pain_.

You were currently lying on your side, and Gwilym was sitting next to your bed in an equally awkward position—he was half draped over the tilted hospital mattress, cradling you as best he could and whispering encouragement to you while you rested your forehead against his shoulder. He matched his breathing with yours and as much as it hurt to sit the way he was, all bent up, he didn’t dare move.

“Y/N,” Pamela said kindly a moment later. She was standing beside the bed and you opened your eyes. “You’re nearly at eight centimeters; what we’d like for you to do is get to your feet and just walk around a little bit, right here in the room. It’ll help get things moving along, think you can do that?”

Gwilym looked at you and you nodded. With both his and Pamela’s help, you stood up and paced around the room, slowly but determinedly.

“I can feel her moving a little, she’s really low,” you said with a tired, but happy smile as you walked back and forth. Looking at Gwilym almost disbelievingly, you said, “This is it, hon.” You were all kinds of emotional—eager to become a mum, nervous about actually giving birth, excited to not be pregnant anymore, but even a little sad knowing that that stage was coming to an end.

“We’re going to be parents,” Gwilym said, beaming. His smile faded as you flinched and gasped at the start of another contraction, though.  “Y/N, here, sit down,” he said, and you knew he was trying to be helpful, but you just held up a hand and shook your head no.

You stood in place, rubbing your stomach and bracing one hand on the wall for support. “I know, I know, I know,” you whispered, more to Rhosyn than to anyone else in the room. “I know you’re ready, we’re ready too,” you breathed out, which turned into a long moan as the pain tapered off and you straightened back up again. You knew during this phase of labor it was important to switch your position every now and then, so you opted to stay on your feet, and kept walking around for another half an hour. You even broke out a few very stiff, very lame dance moves, mostly just wacky arm movements—which, of course, Gwilym filmed for posterity, promising no one would see them without your permission first.

“5:30,” you said, “I’ll get back on the bed at 5:30.”

Not a moment after the clock changed from 5:29, you laid back down on the bed and got comfortable—well, as comfortable as one could be during labor—and not a moment after  _that_ , another contraction ripped through your body and for the first time in the whole process, you actually cried out.

“It hurts, it hurts so bad, Gwil,” you sobbed out as he held your hand tightly. Your voice dropped to a whimper and your grip on his hand loosened. “It really hurts,” you said shakily; you hated that you sounded so whiny, but considering there was a human about to work her way out of your body, you figured you’d earned a free pass this time around.

“I know, love, you’re doing so well,” Gwilym consoled you. “Want to do something to take your mind off it? We can play a game, I can call the guys and see if they’re up yet,” he suggested. He’d already texted his family, your family, Ben, Joe, Rami, Lucy, and Brian letting them know you were in labor, but as it was so early in the morning that you hadn’t heard back yet. You couldn’t help but be a little amused; Gwilym had taken a selfie of the two of you in the hospital bed both making ‘yikes’ faces and giving thumbs-up. He’d sent that along with the message and you couldn’t wait for everyone to wake up and see  _that_ notification.

Gwilym was still rambling next to you, but you could hardly focus on what he was saying from how much pain you were in—maybe after the next contraction you’d get the epidural after all—it hadn’t been your plan, but if it spared from feeling like you were being ripped apart for God knows how much longer, you might just have to go for it. You took another deep breath and closed your eyes, sending any and every kind of mental message to Rhosyn to let her know whenever she was ready, you would be too.

“I could try calling Ben again, he’s usually awake by now,” Gwilym was saying, “Or your family, I don’t know if they’d make it here in time, but just to let them know, you know? My mum and dad have been saying for weeks they’ll drop everything as soon as we tell them the baby’s coming, so I reckon they’ll wake up and see my text and head over—”

“Gwilym,” you finally said, your voice strained from the pain. You loved him, God, you loved him so much, but  _holy shit_.

“Yeah?” he asked expectantly, and you felt bad about it, but you just glared at him.

“Shut the hell up.”

“Right. Got it,” Gwilym said, nodding, and he stopped talking, but you didn’t let go of his hand and he kept rubbing your arm comfortingly.

You were halfway through another contraction when Pamela came over to check your cervix again, and from the level of pain you were experiencing, you would honestly be shocked if it wasn’t time to push yet. After it had subsided, Pamela, along with a second labor nurse—another good sign that it was nearly time—sat at the foot of the table to examine you.

“Y/N,” Pamela said, and you could see the smile in her eyes even though she had a mask covering her mouth, “You’re fully dilated; the doctor’s on her way now. Are you ready to start pushing in a minute?”

“Yes, fuck, please get her out of me,” you panted, your face scrunched up in pain. “Sorry I swore.”

“That’s perfectly alright,” a new voice said, and you looked up to see the doctor—Dr. Oswald, by the look of her badge—entering the room. You’d heard of her before; she was well known and you were fairly certain she’d delivered a few of your coworkers’ children. Dr. Oswald took Pamela’s seat and smiled at you before pulling on her gloves.

“Are you ready, Y/N?” she asked. You nodded frantically. “Alright, before we ask you to give us a first push, is there anything you need?”

“Let’s just get it over with,” you decided; as much as you hated the pain, at this point you were strangely too in tune with it to ask for painkillers or anesthesia—you also figured in the long run, you’d rather just feel the pain as it happened instead of getting hit with soreness once the numbness wore off. You lay back, chest heaving, then turned and looked at Gwilym. “I am so sorry for anything I might yell at you, just know that, okay?”

“Roger that,” Gwilym chuckled and kissed your hair, though he was white as a sheet.

“Hey. Are you doing okay?” you asked him, and after a moment of pause, he shook his head.

“Not really, no,” he said so quietly that only you could hear, “I don’t like seeing you in pain, bear.”

“Yeah, it fucking sucks,” you groaned, “But it’s all worth it, she’s worth it,” you said. Gwilym nodded and let go of your hand so you could hold onto the handle bars on the bed instead, and he moved so he could see your face as well as what was going on where the doctors were sitting.

“Alright, we’re going to just move your legs up, honey,” Pamela said, and motioned for one of the other nurses to come over and help.

“I know there are a lot of people in here,” Dr. Oswald said, “But just listen to my voice and follow my instructions. We’re going to wait for the next contraction and then I need you to take a deep breath and push until the count of ten, understand?”

“Mhmm,” you moaned. “Gwil can you fan me really quick?” you asked, feeling suddenly very hot. He nodded and grabbed one of the magazines from the table, fanning you just slightly from a distance. It helped considerably, and you held up a hand to tell him he could stop after a few seconds. He set the magazine down and stood by your bedside again, all the while murmuring little words of encouragement.

Suddenly you felt the worst pain you’d felt yet—it was like someone lit a fire near the base of your spine and you felt a couple of hot tears slip from your eyes.

“Okay, feel that contraction?” Dr. Oswald asked coolly when the next one came around.  _Yeah, I damn well feel it_ , you thought, but held your tongue. “We’re going to have you push, okay, deep breath first, Y/N, breath in just like that, now  _push_ , good.”

You pushed as hard as you could and couldn’t help but cry out, which contrary to popular belief, didn’t help.

“Try again, Y/N, push hard,” the doctor ordered, and you did. “Good—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten, great job. I need you to do that same thing again now, deep breath—”

Another contraction. Another push. And another, another, another. It was a horrible cycle, the worst thing you’d ever felt, but somehow wonderful, too.

You kept repeating the motions; ‘ _ten_ ’ had become your favorite word, because every time you heard it you could take a gasping breath. It felt like you were actually coming apart at the seams and you lost track of how long you’d been pushing, but it felt like a lifetime.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, we can see her hair,” the doctor said, and Gwilym’s face lit up. You knew what he wanted to ask, so you just nodded at him and he peered over the hem of your gown to see what was going on.

“Oh, Y/N, she’s got little tufts, I can see it,” he said excitedly, already tearing up. “We’re so close, love, so close.”

“Curl around your baby, Y/N, that’s it,” the doctor said, and you sat up as much as you could as you cried out through another ten-second push. You felt like you were a different person, just listening and following instructions, but not fully yourself. All you cared about was getting Rhosyn  _out_ and having her in your arms instead of in your belly. You shut out just about everything besides Dr. Oswald’s voice and Gwilym’s. Everything else was white noise, just buzzing, buzzing.

“Head and shoulders out,” you heard Dr. Oswald say to one of the nurses. “Y/N, can you hear me?” she asked, and you nodded, your eyes hooded. “We could have a baby in the next push, I need you to give me everything you’ve got.”

“Okay,” you sobbed, gripping the handles so tight it was a wonder they hadn’t broken. Gwilym was standing up straight, his hands covering his face, which was already tear-soaked. “Gwil, I need you,” you said, and immediately he was by your side again with a hand on your back.

“Just one more, you can do one more, I know you can,” he said, pushing back his own trepidation so that you didn’t get any more riled than you already were. He rubbed the back of your neck and leaned in close, pressing his lips to your temple and just holding them there. If he could feel all the pain for you, he would do it without question. “Just one more push, sweetheart, last one.”

You looked into Gwilym’s eyes and saw everything. All the years of friendship, which grew into love…the heartache, arguments and pain, the boundless devotion and respect your relationship was founded on…but even more clearly than you could see the past in his blue eyes, you could see your future. And if you wanted that future to be a reality, you knew what you had to do.

“Ready? Big deep breath, deep breath!” the doctor said, “And big push, come on, one, two, three, four, five, six—”

On  _seven_ , the buzzing in your ears stopped; a small, almost tinny cry had pierced through your senses and you collapsed against the pillows, tears pouring down your face from both pain and relief. Upon hearing another, louder cry, your eyes flew back open. You couldn’t see past your knees, but then the doctor moved your gown out of the way and—there she was.

Squirming and screaming and covered in goo, Rhosyn was out, and she was making it very well known that she was  _here_.

“I hope you’ve got lots of love saved up, Y/N,” the doctor said warmly, and as she quickly lifted Rhosyn up over your belly, you yanked the top of your gown down so the first thing Rhosyn really felt was your skin against hers.

“Oh my God, oh my—oh, hi, hi,” you whispered, half sobbing as the doctor put Rhosyn down against your breast, simultaneously wiping her off and making sure her airways were clear—there didn’t seem to be any doubt about that, though; she was  _wailing_ , and it was the most beautiful sound you’d ever heard. “Gwil—” you turned and look at Gwilym, who couldn’t take his eyes off Rhosyn. He was full on weeping, and then you were, too. You didn’t care that your tears were running freely off your cheeks and down your neck, didn’t care that Rhosyn wasn’t clean yet, nor that you were more exhausted than you’d ever been, and still in incredible pain. Gwilym’s hand was on your back again and he was kissing your forehead, sobbing, and Rhosyn, your perfect little girl, was  _here_.

“That’s our daughter,” Gwilym finally choked out as you cradled Rhosyn to your chest. “Hi, little one,” he said, staring down at his daughter with a look full of pure love and adoration. “Oh my god, Y/N, she’s so small,” he said breathlessly, and he knew right away that he would give his own life in an instant for hers.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, leaning in close and giving you a tender kiss on the lips. It was wet and clumsy and tearful, and absolutely perfect.

“Dad, would you like to cut the umbilical cord?” the doctor asked, beaming at the two of you. You hadn’t even noticed how much prep they’d done; you were too enraptured by Rhosyn’s beautiful face, and her tiny little hands and feet.  Gwilym nodded and the doctor showed him right where to use the scissors.

Once he had cut the cord and Rhosyn was officially detached from you, one of the nurses had to take her to get her fully cleaned; as much as you never wanted to let her go, you had to let them do their job. Still, neither you nor Gwilym looked away for a second, and Gwilym got up to follow the nurse to the cleaning table to watch.

“She’s so precious,” you said to no one in particular, tears still streaming down your face. You were only dimly aware of the doctor and nurses taking care of you, too, which was probably a good thing—there was a fair amount of stitching up to do, and you had no interest in watching that happen.

Ten or so minutes later, Pamela brought Rosie back over to you, now swaddled in a hospital blanket and wearing a little hat. “Here you go, Mama,” she said warmly, but you shook your head and looked lovingly at Gwilym.

“Can her dad hold her first?” you asked, and Gwilym swore his heart melted on the spot. Pamela nodded and Gwilym sat carefully in the armchair next to the bed again, and held out his arms. For all anyone knew, Rhosyn could have been made of glass considering how gently and carefully Gwilym held her. You knew better than anyone how much this moment meant to him, and how long he’d dreamt of it.

Rhosyn looked even tinier in Gwilym’s arms, tucked gingerly against his broad chest. He looked down at her and foolishly thought he’d be able to hold it together, but then Rhosyn opened her eyes. They were the exact same shade as yours, and Gwilym started sniffling almost uncontrollably as he let it all sink in—she was really his, and yours. In just a matter of minutes, you’d gone from expectant parents to Mum and Dad, and now this little human relied solely on the two of you.

“Look at her, Y/N,” he said, his voice thick, “Just look at her—you did that,” he said in awe, thinking of what he’d just watched happen in front of his own eyes. You smiled, feeling deliriously happy and fatigued.

“We did that,” you whispered.

The next hours passed in a wonderful blur, you spent the time just holding Rosie as long as you could, finding out how she best liked to be cradled, trying to get her to breastfeed, and trying to rest up yourself. Sleep wasn’t an option, but Gwilym was more than happy to hold the baby and let you start to slowly regain your strength. And first chance he got, he followed through on his McDonald’s promise, which made for one happy mama.

You made sure to check with the doctors to be sure, and it said it clear as day on the birth certificate: Rhosyn Lee was born at 7:17a.m. on January 15th, weighing a perfectly healthy 6 pounds, 2 ounces, and as lovely as a little rose.

##  **THE NEXT AFTERNOON  
****JANUARY 16** **th** **, 2:00pm.**

“Love,” Gwilym whispered in your ear. It had been just about 36 hours since you first woke up after your water broke, and in that time you’d gotten a grand total of seventeen minutes of sleep while Gwilym was rocking Rosie in his arms. You were still recovering at the hospital, and now, hearing his voice brought you out of your semi-nap. “Good morning, sleepy,” he said jokingly. “Rosie wants her mum.”

Very, very carefully, you sat up against the pillows and adjusted your top so your left breast was free. Rhosyn took to it almost immediately once Gwilym had placed her in your arms and you both smiled. You were too tired to cry more than you already had, even though everything Rosie did made you feel like you were about to. It had been the longest day of your lives, and you were loving every second.

“There you go, sweetie, there you go,” you cooed, amazed at how quickly Rhosyn had started feeding. It was an odd feeling, but it felt natural as well. “Has anyone else come by?” you whispered to Gwilym, who shook his head.

“Not since my mum and dad left,” he said. “Ben said the ‘whole crew’ is on the way, though, if you feel up to it.”

You nodded; exhausted as you were, you had a feeling any form of real rest was still just a distant speck on the horizon, so it wasn’t like you’d be getting any sleep soon, anyway. Gwilym’s parents had stopped in around lunch time to meet their granddaughter, and before that, his brother Owen had made a visit. You were in no rush to see people considering you looked like a character from the Walking Dead, but it meant a lot that they had come by, even if just for an hour or two.

You wished you were a little more coherent for all the visits, but you were on quite a bit of pain medication, so everything felt a bit hazy. Ben and Joe arrived around 2:30, then came Rami and Lucy with a fruit basket so you would have something to snack on that wasn’t hospital food. You could tell from the looks on all their faces the second they walked into the room that Rhosyn was going to the most spoiled little baby ever born.

“She’s beautiful, Gwil,” Joe said truthfully, holding out his thumb and smiling when Rhosyn squeezed it. Her hand barely wrapped around just one of Joe’s fingers and you could have sworn you saw a tear escape his eye. “You two done good,” he sniffled overdramatically, making you all laugh.

“She’s got to be the luckiest damn baby—sorry, the luckiest baby I’ve ever seen,” Rami said, his eyes sparkling when it was his turn to hold Rhosyn. “She’s got the best parents, truly, guys, I mean it.”

“And some pretty good genes, too!” Lucy said with a wink.

“Ha, let’s hope she looks like us when we’ve got our shit together, not us now,” you said, only half-kidding. Gwilym was rapidly approaching caveman status, and as for you…well, you hadn’t showered in two days, you could barely move without wincing, and you were wearing a very attractive adult diaper under your clothes. Hot.

“She’s even smaller than Frankie was as a puppy,” Ben commented, and even though Rhosyn was wide awake, his voice was hushed like he was worried he’d wake her. “She’s got your eyes, Y/N.”

“She has, hasn’t she?” you said fondly, “But Gwil’s nose, and smile, I’ll bet. Do you want to hold her?”

“What?” Ben asked, a bit dumbfounded.

“Go on, yeah!” you said, and Gwilym got up to hand Rosie to Ben, “Just make sure you support her head and bum, I believe in you,” you said.

Ben was a natural; he started making the silliest of silly faces at Rhosyn, who looked at him like he was an alien, of course, but she seemed absolutely enthralled.

“Her little cheeks!” Ben gushed, his smile out of control. “You guys want to know something?” he asked shyly, and you gave him an inquisitive look. “I haven’t smoked in over two months, just because I knew then I’d be able to hold her without anyone worrying. Just to be on the safe side, y’know?”

“Ben—” you started to say, completely shocked. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him so much as carry a pack of cigarettes since Halloween. He shook his head, not wanting the attention on himself, but you mouthed  _‘we love you’_ to him, and he smiled even wider.

After a couple more hours of visiting, though, you really were at the end of your rope. If you wanted to be able to leave the hospital first thing the next morning, you really needed to get whatever sleep you could manage. After one last round of Rosie-adoration, your friends left, leaving you alone again with Gwilym and the nurse on duty.

Gwilym handed Rosie back to you. She was sound asleep now, and you cherished the peaceful moment.

“Phew,” he sighed.

“Understatement of the century,” you replied, and Gwilym smiled at you. His eyes were glazed over, his hair stuck up all over the place, and his beard was a bit thicker than it was before you went to bed the night before. In short, he looked a mess, but he was your mess, and hey—in your state, who were you to judge?

“We’ve got a baby,” Gwilym said, still in disbelief that it real and not a dream. He scooted closer and you both wrapped your arms around Rhosyn. “Y/N,” Gwilym said softly, “From the bottom of my heart, thank you. For everything.”

“Wouldn’t want to have a baby with anyone else,” you replied. “And I love you, even though my vagina feels like it’s on fire right now,” you added.

“Just goes to show you how hot it is,” Gwilym said, and then you both visibly cringed. “Sorry, that was terrible.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t try to hit on me when we’re running on empty,” you laughed.

Gwilym nodded, then frowned. “What am I going to do for the next few years, then?” he said jokingly, then leaned in and kissed you. He carefully lifted Rosie out of your arms after you gave her one more soft kiss. “Get some sleep, love. We’re taking this little one home tomorrow, yeah? Gotta be well-rested.”

“Well rested, good one,” you chuckled, but you were already starting to doze off, and you found that watching the love of your life  _cradle_ the love of your life, well, that was a pretty nice way to fall asleep.

##  **TWO MONTHS LATER**

“Holy shit. Uh, Y/N,” Gwilym called warily over his shoulder. “Good lord, what have you  _done?_ ” he whispered to Rosie, who was squirming on the changing table and smiling up at him as if she didn’t have what looked like radioactive waste in her diaper.  “Y/N!” he called again.

“What’s up?” you said, coming into the nursery. It wasn’t nearly as neat and tidy as it had been just eight weeks ago, but it was still your favorite room in the apartment.

“Is this normal?” Gwilym asked, frowning at the diaper. You walked over, yawning, and cocked your head to one side as you saw the mess.

“Yeah,” you said decisively a moment later. “It’s supposed to look that way, she’s not eating solids yet.”

Gwilym furrowed his brows and nodded, weighing his options. He’d won the ‘favorite stuffed animal’ bet you made long ago, when the nursery was still a work in progress: Rosie wasn’t old enough to really play with plushies yet, but the only one she ever reached for was the elephant, which Gwilym predicted. So, he had a one-time pass to force a dirty diaper on you and you’d have to change it, no complaints. On one had, the sight before him was disgusting, but on the other…he knew it would only get worse from here.

“Don’t look so scared,” you laughed, “It’s just poop.”

Gwilym nodded and you sat down in the rocking chair to watch him. Truth be told, he’d gotten the hang of diaper changes even faster than you had, and for some reason Rhosyn squirmed far less when he changed her. Your daughter’s favoritism annoyed you a little at first, until it became clear you were the only one who could burp her every single time, without fail. When you realized that, you’d triumphantly cheered and stuck your tongue out at Gwilym with a giant splotch of spit up down your back. It was funny, the things that now thrilled you as a parent.

“And we are all set,” Gwilym said in the voice he reserved just for Rhosyn. He snapped her onesie–the guitar one Brian had gifted you–back in place and lifted her off the changing table, making airplane noises as he ‘flew’ her over to you. You smiled, then looked at the clock at your grin faltered a little. It was already nearly 8 at night, and Rhosyn wasn’t showing any signs of sleepiness. It probably didn’t help that she’d napped almost the entire afternoon.

Gwilym seemed to read your mind, and he sat down on the soft rug in front of the armchair, cradling Rhosyn in his arms and leaning back against your legs. He reached with his free hand and grabbed Rosie’s Boppy pillow off a nearby ottoman, then set her up on it.

“Let’s see if she can do three minutes, she did two and a half yesterday,” he said eagerly. Rhosyn had been getting better and better at tummy time lately, and even the pediatrician had said she had a feeling you had a real mover on your hands already.

Rhosyn lay propped on the pillow on her belly, moving around just a little and gurgling, and you both watched, completely in love with your little girl. You reached down and massaged Gwilym’s shoulders; there was no such thing as relaxation now that you had a newborn, so little moments like this were the closest you’d get to serenity for quite a while. A few minutes later, though, Rosie started crying again, telling you in the only way she could that she was done with tummy time for the night.

“Shhh, sweet girl,” Gwilym said as he picked her up.  “What is it you need? Want to walk around, see the house?”

His voice was calm and quiet, but Rhosyn just kept crying, and it wasn’t until you stood by his side and both made silly faces that she quieted down.

“I’m going to make a round,” Gwilym said with a smile, and kissed you softly. He grabbed a knitted blanket off the rocking chair and draped it over Rhosyn’s back, then left the nursery to walk Rosie around the apartment as he had almost every other night.

You quietly followed after them and stood leaning against the corner of the wall where the hallway let out into the living area. Your heart flooded with warmth watching the way Gwilym took Rosie to every corner of the place–he pointed out lamps, and pillows, and even just things like the color of the walls, or the dishes you’d left out.

“That’s me and your mum,” he was telling Rosie softly as he pointed at the framed picture the two of you had taken when you were almost eight months pregnant. “And you’re that little bump, right there.”

 _“Little?_ ” you joked, and Gwilym smiled at you. “Come on,” you said, angling your head down the hallway. “I want to see if she’ll eat a little more and then maybe we can get her to bed.”

Gwilym nodded and you headed back down the hall. As much as you couldn’t wait to make full use of the nursery, the doctor had recommended roomsharing until Rhosyn was at least six months old. It had absolutely ruined your sleep patterns, having an infant sleeping ten feet away, but it was worth it to know she was safe. You’d found a smaller, temporary crib to set up next to the dresser and while you settled into the nursery armchair to nurse, Gwilym headed to the master bedroom to get everything ready for bed–it was never sleep anymore, just bed.

You paced across the nursery a few times, watching the way Rhosyn’s eyes started to droop shut, then reached up over the changing table and turned on the musical mobile Gwilym had bought. The familiar melody of Love of My Life started playing and you turned on just one night light before sitting down and adjusting your shirt. Rosie latched on immediately and you supported her head, thumbing the wispy hair on top of it as you watched her. You found yourself humming along to the music coming from the mobile, and even though it was just instrumental, the phrase ‘love of my life’ had never felt so true before.

You didn’t notice that Gwilym was standing in the doorway. He watched you rocking slowly in the chair, your daughter at your breast, and he was almost overcome by the love and admiration he felt. Even though the days were long and the nights were even longer thanks to Rhosyn’s midnight wailing and persistent cluster feeding, he had never been happier in his entire life–he owed it all to you.

“Is she asleep?” he whispered a moment later to make his presence known, and you looked up, nodding tiredly.

“Just about,” you replied with a smile; Rhosyn had dozed off while you were nursing her, and you gently repositioned her. She stirred and cooed only slightly before curling up against your shoulder, perched like a little frog with her knees bent under herself and her hands reaching upwards. You stood and kissed the top of her head.

“Here, I’ll get her in the crib so you can wash up,” Gwilym said; you gave him a grateful look and passed Rosie off, then headed into the bathroom to brush your teeth. You made the mistake of looking in the mirror, and almost laughed at how exhausted and disheveled you looked. The bags under your eyes could put any designer purse to shame, and you were starting to break out like you’d just had your sweet sixteen party and not a baby. You were achy and still had a belly and couldn’t remember the last time you shaved anything, but you didn’t care. It all seemed so trivial now that you had Rhosyn, so instead of beating yourself up, you took another look at yourself and gave your reflection a tired wink.

“How’s she doing–?” you started to ask as you walked into the bedroom, but the words died on your tongue when Gwilym turned, holding a finger to his lips. He looked back down into the crib, one forearm braced on the side of it and his other arm hanging down where Rhosyn was swaddled. He was humming–no tune in particular, just humming–and you could almost feel his deep voice reverberating around the room.

“She’s an angel,” he whispered. You came to stand by his side and looped your arms around his, leaning your head on his shoulder. Rhosyn had one tiny first wrapped around Gwilym’s index finger and although she was holding on loose enough that at any moment he could pull away, he didn’t want to. “Are we doing a good job?” he asked a moment later. You smiled sympathetically.

“She’s asleep, she’s got a clean diaper, and she’s well fed,” you murmured, kissing his shoulder. “We’re doing just fine, love.”

“Yeah, but do you think she’ll love us? You know, as much as we love her?”

You looked each other in the eye, and after a pause, you nodded. 

“She already does. Gwil, not to toot our own horn, but we’re going to be the best parents, because we want to be the best parents. It’s not going to be perfectly smooth or anything, but bubs–we’ve only been at it a couple months, and we’re already doing pretty great. You and I are going to raise one beautiful little kid.”

“You’re right,” Gwilym sighed, and leaned his head atop yours. “You’re always right.” He yawned, which made you yawn, and almost like she could sense it, Rhosyn yawned in her sleep. “On that note,” he said tiredly, “I vote we get some shut eye before another Hurricane Rosie wakes us up.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Daddio,” you said, rubbing circles on Gwilym’s back. He finally slipped his finger out of Rhosyn’s grip and then kissed the pad of it. He reached back down and tapped Rhosyn’s nose softly, then wrapped his left arm around you.

One last time before you went to bed, you readjusted Rosie’s swaddling cloth just slightly, then looked up at Gwilym. You absolutely adored that man, and felt immeasurably blessed to have such a precious little baby with him–Rhosyn, your sweet little love who had taught you so much when she came along.

She’d taught you how to be a mum, which admittedly you were still learning, and because of her you’d come to see just how strong you really were, in every sense of the word. Perhaps most importantly of all, Rhosyn had taught you that love never divides itself among people; it multiplies. You loved your little family more and more every day, and as you and Gwilym looked down at your daughter, your simple little favor who was now the biggest joy of your life, you knew that love would never fade. Rhosyn may not have been conceived, carried, and brought into the world in the usual way, but in the end it really didn’t matter how she came to be; it just mattered that she did.

You wouldn’t change a thing about it, not for the entire world.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IS THE FINAL CHAPTER!!!!

##  **THREE YEARS LATER – MOTHER’S DAY 💐**

“Thank you, oh, you shouldn’t have!” you said excitedly, playing along with Rhosyn’s ‘five course meal’ that she’d ‘made’ you for Mother’s Day. You were sitting cross-legged on the rug in the part of the living room designated as Rosie’s play space, enjoying some pre-supper playtime. Rhosyn was bustling around her toy kitchen set like a true top chef, whipping up a plate of plastic potatoes and chicken drumsticks like an old pro.

Gwilym was hard at work in the kitchen, which you could see clearly from where you sat. Back when you were living in his apartment, it was tough to see into other areas of the place; with a quickly-growing toddler roaming around, that became one of the main reasons you’d decided to move. You’d been in your new place—a modest-sized townhouse—for almost a year now, and it was finally starting to feel like home.  It was impossible  _not_ to feel at home, you thought, with your daughter running around the living room in her pajamas, and your boyfriend busily preparing your dinner to the sounds of a ‘Best of Billy Joel’ playlist.

You smiled and leaned in towards Rhosyn to play pretend and smell what she was cooking. It actually did smell absolutely heavenly throughout the whole house, though, and your stomach growled a bit just thinking about the feast Gwilym had planned.

“Mmm, I’m hungry,” you told Rhosyn, who was pretending to stir a pot. You reached for the tray of fake cupcakes on the counter of the mini-kitchen, but your daughter held her tiny hand over it before you could take one, her bottom lip sticking out.

“That’s dessert!” she scolded you in her adorable little voice, and you held up your hands in mock-surrender, then snatched one once she turned her back. “Mummy, no!” Rosie giggled when she saw what you’d done, and she toddled around the toy set, practically launching herself into your lap in an effort to steal the plastic pastry back. You opened your mouth and tossed it behind you as if you’d scarfed it down in one bite.

“Sorry, it just looked so yummy, you made them so well!” you said, pulling Rosie onto your lap and hugging her close. She put up with a few kisses before she wriggled out of your grasp again—apparently the ‘roast butter’ was burning. You shook your head, both amused by her creativity and also very thankful she wasn’t the one actually cooking tonight.

“Did I hear that someone ate dessert before dinner?” Gwilym asked as he walked over into the living area. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a dish towel over one shoulder.

“Guilty,” you said sheepishly, and he folded his arms over his chest and gave you a fake-disapproving look.

“Unbelievable,” he said, then turned to Rosie, “Just because it’s Mother’s Day, she thinks she can get away with anything, huh?” he said, and Rosie giggled, her way of agreeing. “Come here, you little Nugget,” he said, crouching down to her level. You smiled; you loved that he still used that nickname even though Rosie was three and a half—you couldn’t believe how fast the time had flown by.

Rosie dropped what she was holding and lifted her arms towards Gwilym; he scooped her up, raising her almost to the ceiling before settling her on his hip and leaning in for a playful head bonk.

“Let’s get you washed up for supper, yeah?” he said, and Rosie nodded.

Five minutes later, you were seated in your usual spot at the dinner table, and even though you offered to help, Gwilym had shook his head and insisted you just sit back, relax, and let him take care of things. He’d set the table beautifully and put the bouquet of flowers that had greeted you that morning in a vase to act as a centerpiece.

“Can you get Mum something to drink?” Gwilym asked Rosie, who hopped out of her chair and went to the fridge—she’d just gotten tall enough and strong enough to open it on her own, and always loved to help out. However, all she could reach were the juice boxes, and she presented you with a pouch of Capri Sun a moment later.

“Got juice for you!” she said proudly, and you took it from her pudgy hand with a wide smile.

“So have I,” Gwilym added as he came over to the table with a bottle of wine. He winked at you and bent to kiss you on the top of your head before pouring you about half a glass. You reached up and put your hand on his where it lay on your shoulder; you squeezed it gently before he took your plate from the table and went to load it up.

“Alright,” he said a moment later once everyone was served and he’d cut Rosie’s food up for her. “Dig in,” he said with a playful raise of his eyebrows.

“I want more peas, peas!” Rosie announced after a few minutes, and Gwilym wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked at her sternly.

“Ah ah ah,” he said, “What’s the magic word?”

“Peas,” she said, looking a bit confused.

“Peas, what?” Gwilym prompted again.

“Peas,  _peas_ ,” Rosie repeated, and then you chuckled at the look of frustration on her face.

“I think she is saying it, hon,” you told Gwilym. Rhosyn hadn’t quite mastered the “ _PL_ —” sound yet, so words like ‘please’ and ‘plenty’ were just a little bit off the mark. “I’ve got it,” you said, getting up before Gwilym could protest. You brought the bowl of peas over and gave Rosie another small scoop.

“Thank you for making all this, it’s delicious,” you said honestly, and Gwilym just grinned as you came around to his side of the table and gave him some more peas as well. “I love you,” you said softly, then kissed him quickly. Rosie gasped and covered her face, making you and Gwilym both burst out laughing.

After you’d all eaten your fill, you and Rhosyn returned to the family room to resume kitchen playtime while Gwilym did the dishes. You knew better than to get used to such special treatment; save for days like Mother’s and Father’s Day or birthdays, dinner and kitchen cleanup was always a joint effort, and you liked it that way.

“Okay, where are my girls?” Gwilym called. He came into the living room carrying three wrapped presents. “To the couch!” he exclaimed, and Rosie ran across the living room and dove onto the cushions. Once Gwilym had put the gifts for you down, Rosie clambered into his lap and leaned back against his chest, still holding a toy spatula.

“I told you you didn’t have to get me anything,” you said to Gwilym, who just smiled.

“I know. I ignored you,” he said simply, and you rolled your eyes affectionately.

“That one first, Mummy!” Rhosyn urged you, pointing at a box wrapped in crimson paper and adorned with a ribbon in an even darker shade of red. You reached for it, thinking maybe it was something Gwilym had bought that was “from Rosie,” but Gwilym stopped you.

“Ah, that one’s for Mummy to open later,” he said a bit too quickly, and though he played it off well, you could hear the suggestive tone in his voice. “After you’re asleep, sorry, Nugget,” he added. He kissed Rosie’s hair and wiggled his eyebrows at you over her head. You gave him an amused and flirtatious look, then set the red package back down despite your growing curiosity.

“How about the yellow one?” Gwilym suggested, and you reached for the bag he’d indicated instead.

“Gwil,” you gasped when you pulled out the tissue paper to find a lovely silk scarf you’d had your eye on the last time you and Gwilym went for a window-shopping walk downtown with Rosie in her stroller. When you went back to the store the next day to buy it, the sales clerk had told you the scarf on the mannequin was just for show, and the actual item had been backordered for weeks. “How did you–?” you started to ask.

“Magic,” Gwilym shrugged, bouncing Rhosyn slightly on his lap. “Happy Mother’s Day, sweetheart,” he said with a loving smile. You looked into the bag again and underneath the scarf you found a gift card to the same store and a card.  You opened it and read it to yourself.

_To (Mama) Bear,_

 

_One day a year isn’t enough to thank you enough for how wonderful a mum you are. Your strength and beauty continues to bring me to my knees every single day, and I can already see all the ways Rhosyn’s learning from you. You are an incredible role model and will forever be the love of my life._

 

_Always yours,_

_Gwil_

You hugged the card to your chest and mouthed “I love you” at Gwilym, then sniffled. He had such a way with words, and you already felt his love every day, but seeing it in writing made you incredibly emotional.

“Why are you crying?” Rhosyn asked through a yawn; she looked very concerned and you laughed, blinking away the tears before they could fully fall.

“Because Daddy said some really nice things in this card,” you answered.

“Why?”

“Because he loves me,” you answered patiently.

“Why are you sad if Dada loves you?”

“No, sweetie, I’m not sad,” you said, laughing as you reached over to squeeze her foot, then took the tissue Gwilym handed you. “These aren’t sad tears, it’s a happy cry.”

“Oh,” said Rosie, then, as three-and-a-half-year-year-olds do, she switched gears completely. “Open mine now?”

“Of course,” you said enthusiastically. Gwilym leaned forward, careful not to let Rhosyn slip off his lap, and took the last gift—a small, green box—from the table.

He handed it to Rosie then whispered in her ear, “Give that to your mum.”

You opened the small package slowly and carefully, your heart melting at the look of excitement on your daughter’s face as you got closer and closer to seeing what she’d made you. Inside the box, there was a small bracelet strung with macaroni beads, and underneath it, a photo in a frame.  The picture was one you remembered having been taken in the fall of last year; in it, you were holding Rosie on your lap, and both of you were making kiss faces at the camera. The frame was made of construction paper, covered in crayon scribbles, and very haphazardly taped together around the picture—it was absolutely perfect.

“Wow, Ros, this is beautiful!” you said with wide eyes, and you really meant it. You slipped the pasta bracelet on; it fit a bit loosely, but you held up your wrist and admired how it looked as if it were made of Swarovski crystal. “It’s perfect, lovey, thank you so much!” you said, and the smile that spread across Rhosyn’s face was bright enough to power a whole city.

“What do you say?” Gwilym murmured to Rhosyn, who was squirming a little.

“You’re welcome,” she replied automatically. “Love you, Mummy.”

“I love you too, cutie,” you replied, then held out your arms for a hug. Rosie quickly scrambled off her dad’s lap, accidentally kicking him in the gut—Gwilym suppressed a small groan of pain as she got off him and crawled across the cushions to throw herself into your arms instead. Your heart swelled; she was so affectionate, even from infancy, and you knew she must have gotten that natural, unbridled love from Gwilym, along with his smile and nose.

“Thank you both for such a wonderful night,” you said both to Rhosyn and Gwilym. “I feel very loved,” you said, planting a loud kiss on Rosie’s cheek.

“You are,” Gwilym said with a soft smile, then made a face like he’d just remembered something. “You know—Ros—I think we forgot something,” he said. You gave him a questioning look and then glanced at Rosie. She was smiling, as if she was in on a joke. “Yeah, I think we did, come on,” he urged her, and she returned to Gwilym’s end of the couch. You watched, amused, as they whispered to each other for a moment, stealing glances at you. Gwilym cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered something to Rhosyn, who beamed, nodded, and jumped off the couch.

“Well, let’s go get it!” Gwilym said to her excitedly; Rosie was hardly able to resist jumping up and down. You looked at him questioningly, but he just winked at you and disappeared around the corner, Rosie tottering along hot on his heels.

You shook your head and smiled at their antics, then started gathering up the ribbon and wrapping paper from around the coffee table. A moment later, Gwilym and Rosie returned, and Rosie had another card in her hands.

“She wanted to make one, too,” Gwilym explained. “I may have helped a bit, but Rosie, I’ll let you read it,” he said, and Rosie nodded eagerly. Gwilym lifted her up and wrapped his arms around her so he could hold the card open while she read.

Rosie looked up at Gwilym for approval, and at his nod, she started reading, keeping her place with one finger on the paper. Gwilym helped her out and read along; his voice was much deeper underneath Rosie’s higher, softer tone. 

“You have been the best mum my whole life,” she read with a brief pause after each word, and you were amazed at how well she was reading!  _We’ve been practicing,_ Gwilym mouthed to you when you looked at him, and you smiled. 

“And you have made Daddy happy for a lot long…longer than that,” Rosie sounded out with her dad’s help, her tiny eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. “I love your hugs and when you  _pay_ with me.”

“Play,” Gwilym clarified with a smile.

“You are the best mum ever,” Rosie said. She looked at Gwilym, who raised his eyebrows and nodded at her to keep going. She looked back at the card and seemed to have lost her place, so Gwilym pointed to where she’d left off.

“So we want to give you a very—” Rhosyn frowned at the paper, not sure how to say the next word. She looked to Gwilym for assistance again, stuck on the tricky word.

“Special,” he told her, and kissed the top of her head.

“Spesha gift,” Rosie finished with a huge smile. _Close enough._  She then ran into your arms and nearly tackled you with a hug. You laughed and faked like you were falling over against the pillows at the end of the couch.

“Thank you, Nugget!” you chuckled. The note was lovely; you were touched that Gwilym had thought to have Rosie do something like that. “Can you pass that over? I’d love to read it again,” you said, and Gwilym handed you the card. You were too preoccupied with getting Rosie comfortable on your lap and avoiding a three-year-old elbow to the boob to notice that Gwilym’s hand was shaking, just a bit. You looked at the card—the top half was written in Rhosyn’s toddler scrawl and underneath, Gwilym had written a helpful “translation.” You couldn’t stop smiling as you reread the words again, then again, as you hugged Rosie tightly to your side.

Gwilym watched you with pure love in his eyes, his heart beating a mile a minute. Finally, after one last deep breath, he got to his feet and reached into his back pocket. It would seem as though he was taking out his phone to snap a picture of you with Rhosyn…that is, until he knelt down in front of the couch.

“What are you doing?” you asked breathlessly, but Gwilym didn’t reply right away. As if on cue, Rosie squealed happily and ran around so she could hug Gwilym from behind, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck. He laughed and lost his balance for just a second from her hug, then steadied himself again on one knee, and cleared his throat.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he said thickly, holding out a small velvet box in his hand. You covered your mouth with both hands, completely in shock, but he used his free hand to take them away from your face so he could really see you.

“Are you—?” you gasped.

“I might be, listen and find out,” Gwilym said with a teasing smile, and you pressed your hands to your cheeks, feeling how hot they were as you smiled widely.  “Y/N Y/L/N, from the moment we met almost fifteen years ago, I knew you were going to be an important part of my life. I knew I would share the best and worst times with you, but I don’t think either of us expected when we first met that we would end up where we are now.” Gwilym paused and you barely held back tears, then he continued.

“I’m so glad we  _did_ end up here. It hasn’t always been easy, but through any low and every high, you’ve been my best friend, my confidante, and my love. I know beyond any doubt that I am completely and unapologetically in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life at your side if you’ll have me,” he said with a slight chuckle, then let go of your hands for a split second to wipe a tear away with his knuckle.

“Daddy, don’t cry,” Rosie cooed, helping him wipe the tear away. She then kissed Gwilym on the cheek with a wet  _mwah!_ and you both laughed through your tears.

“Thanks, Nugget,” he said, and Rhosyn squeezed him tighter, “Y/N, I’ve had the absolute honor of being able to say that you’re the mother of my child for the last three years, and for the rest of our lives, I would love to call you my wife, too.  Will you—” he bowed his head and took a second to collect himself, then looked you in the eye and asked, “Will you marry me, bear?”

He opened the box, and even though you could hardly see through the tears welling in your eyes, you knew it contained the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen. You nodded fervently, then managed to find your voice.

“Yes,” you choked out, crying and smiling and laughing all at once, “Yes, of course I will, of course, yes,” you said in a rush, and you and Gwilym both rose to your feet and embraced. He wrapped you in a hug and buried his face in your hair as you cried against his shoulder. You felt Rhosyn hug your leg and reached down with one hand to hold her against you, then pulled your head back and pressed your lips to Gwilym’s. You kissed each other with all the passion you could while remaining appropriate considering your toddler was right there, looking up at you both.

“I love you so much,” you said against Gwilym’s lips, and felt him smile into the kiss.

“I love you back,” he said, then with a little eyebrow wiggle, he added, “Fiancée.”

You bit your lip and smiled, then pecked him again.

“I like the sound of that,” you said once you broke apart.  Gwilym carefully plucked the ring from where it lay in the velvet and took your hand in his. He slipped it onto your finger—it fit perfectly—and you both admired the way it glimmered in the light of the living room. It was regal yet understated, and stunning without being too flashy. It was absolutely perfect, and you couldn’t stop staring at the way it glimmered on your finger like it was meant to be there all along.

“Only two bedtime stories, that’s a personal record,” Gwilym whispered as he came out of Rhosyn’s room and shut the door behind himself with a soft click.  “She was out like a light before I could finish Peter Rabbit.”

“Makes sense, it’s been an exciting day,” you said with a smile. You held out your left hand to him, shaking it just slightly; he grinned as the ring sparkled in the dim light, then slipped his fingers through yours.

You made your way around the house and turned out lights, put away a few stray toys, and started the dishwasher before heading back upstairs to your bedroom. You got to the top of the stairs and paused outside Rhosyn’s door, both of you listening to see if she was stirring.

“C’mon,” you said after a few moments of silence. You placed a hand on Gwilym’s back and rubbed soft circles between his shoulder blades over the thin fabric of the T-shirt he was wearing. “Let’s go to bed, love.”

“Hmm, to bed or to sleep?” he said lowly as he turned to face you with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “If I remember correctly you’ve still got one more gift to wear…I mean, to open…”

“Ooh, whatever could it be?” you teased, and Gwilym made a face. He’d been holding the mysterious red box behind his back, and now wiggled it in front of you, tempting you. Then, he walked past you and started backing towards your bedroom with a smirk on his face. You followed with a giggle, then promptly covered your mouth so as not to wake up Rhosyn—you had a feeling you would want her to stay fast asleep the  _entire_ night.

“You look so beautiful,” Gwilym whispered, lying on his side with one elbow propped on the pillow. His forehead was sweaty and you knew yours looked much the same as you brushed his hair back. You were still trying to catch your breath as you lay next to him, feeling wide awake and sleepy at the same time.

“I look like I just got the shit fucked out of me,” you said bluntly, and Gwilym hummed his assent as he pressed his lips to your dewy skin.

“Like I said, beautiful.”

“You don’t look half-bad yourself, you know,” you commented, rolling onto your stomach. You started peppering kisses along Gwilym’s jaw, then down his neck. “All spent and sweaty and  _hot_ ,” you said, “It’s a good look, we should make it happen more often.”

“Well, you won’t hear me say no to that,” Gwilym laughed, looking down at you. He smirked, one hand around your shoulders. He was softly stroking your back while you kissed his chest, feeling the little tufts of hair there under your lips as you trailed them across whatever skin you could reach. “And to think, we get to have marriedsex soon.”

“Oh, is that why you proposed to me?” you joked, letting out a soft snort of laughter that Gwilym echoed. Saying it out loud sent a joyous jolt through your whole body, and you looked at the ring again as you lay your hand flat on Gwilym’s chest.

“You know it’s because of much more than that,” he said honestly, then adopted a lighter tone. “But the honeymoon, oh, baby, you’re not ready,” he added.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lee,” you teased.

“I would never, Y/L/N… Or should I say, also Lee,” he amended, then kissed you. “Soon-to-be-Lee.” Another quick kiss. “Almost Lee.”

You let the third kiss go on a little longer than the others; Gwilym’s lips were soft and warm, a little salty from sweat. You lay in silence for a moment, just touching him, just feeling his skin under your fingertips and his heartbeat thumping below your ear.

“Unless you want to keep your last name,” Gwilym said suddenly; that had just occurred to him. “It’s not the 1800s anymore, after all.” You shook your head and smiled up at him—you appreciated the thought, but Gwilym was a Lee, and Rhosyn was a Lee, and it only felt right to complete the trifecta.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” you whispered. “Let’s actually make it soon, yeah?”

“I’m literally already writing my vows in my head,” Gwilym said, “But yes, definitely soon. No years-long engagement shenanigans; I just want to wife you up,” he laughed.

“You mean you just want honeymoon sex,” you said, playfully pouting.

“You said it, love, not me,” Gwilym replied in jest, and you smiled. You lay in silence for a few moments before Gwilym huffed a small laugh. “Remember when we were actually nervous to sleep together?” he asked.

“ _I_ was nervous,” you said, remembering fondly, “As I recall, you were raring to go.”

“Nah, I was nervous too,” Gwilym admitted. “And look at us now!”

“Mhmm,” you sighed against him. “Big improvement.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gwilym asked, faking offense, but you just smiled and rolled your eyes.

“I just mean it’s a lot easier to ride you without a giant baby bump in the way. Lots more opportunity to experiment,” you explained, then paused, your heart racing. “Although I wouldn’t be opposed to another kiddo, you know, eventually.” 

Gwilym raised an eyebrow and looked down at you, a bit surprised, but mostly just excited. “You want to have another baby?”

“Yeah,” you said honestly, craning your neck a little to meet his eyes. “I do.”

“Excellent!” Gwilym exclaimed, “I’ll call Dr. Harrison.”

“Gwil!” you cracked up and swatted him in the chest, then pressed your face into the crook of his neck to muffle the sound of your laughter so Rhosyn wouldn’t hear it down the hall and wake up. “I was thinking maybe we try the regular way for the next one,” you said suggestively, “But let’s get past the honeymoon first…I don’t want to be thinking about  _anything_ except you when we have that.”

“I’ll take that deal,” Gwilym replied as he twisted in bed so he could trail his hand down your side, scratching ever so lightly with his nails and sending a shiver up your spine. He lay back into the pillows with you tucked against his side, smiling serenely as he let his eyes drift shut.  However, no sooner had he done so than you both heard the soft pitter-patter of sock feet in the hallway.

“Brace yourself,” you murmured in a sleepy impression of Ned Stark, “Rosie is coming.”

“I’ll take this one,” Gwilym sighed and reached for his flannel pants; he pulled them on under the covers so he’d be decent, and sure enough, just seconds later, Rhosyn pushed your bedroom door open and stood in the doorway with her blankie and stuffed elephant in one hand.

“What’s up, sweet pea?” Gwilym asked, sitting up as you wrapped the covers tighter around yourself to stay hidden.

“Had a bad dream,” Rosie said through a yawn, and your heart hurt when you heard the tired fright in her quavering voice.

“Bad dream, huh?” Gwilym asked as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and crouched in front of Rosie. “About what?”

“M-monsters,” Rosie said sadly, and Gwilym smiled softly.

“You can beat monsters, bug! You’re a strong little lady, they’re no match for ya. But I’ll also always be here to protect you, even if it’s just from a dream.” Gwilym stroked his daughter’s staticky hair, then lovingly pinched her belly-button and blew a raspberry, which never failed to bring a smile to her face and didn’t fail now. Still, she looked scared, and cast a wary look down the dark hall behind her.

“Rhosyn, you’re safe, sweetheart,” Gwilym whispered, “That’s all it was, just a silly dream. It’s over now, yeah? You’re safe at home.”

Rhosyn sniffled and nodded, and Gwilym slowly got to his feet, scooping Rhosyn up at the same time. She was still tearful, but mostly just tired, and Gwilym started humming to her softly as he swayed back and forth with her in his arms. He turned around to face you as she clung to him, and made a sympathetic pouting face at you over Rosie’s shoulder. You returned the look and put a hand over your heart, which was full to bursting seeing how good Gwilym was at calming Rosie down.

“I’ll tuck her back in,” he whispered, patting Rosie’s back comfortingly. He could tell she was already drifting back off to sleep.

It hit you, as Gwilym carried Rhosyn down the hallway, her little cheek smushed against his shoulder and her elephant dangling loosely from her hand, that you were watching your whole world, your future. You couldn’t wait to see the wonderful person Rhosyn would become as she grew older with the years, and what married life would bring. 

However, right now your daughter was sleeping peacefully, and your fiancé would soon join you back in bed, and you were perfectly content to let tender moments like these go on just a little longer.

##  **Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for coming on this fic journey with me. It’s been an honor 🖤**


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